Skin
by Nellark
Summary: Yet another story about Ron & Hermione's relationship after the war. Starts after Malfoy Manor and goes ONWARD. Rated M because of reasons.
1. Love Until We Bleed

_I'm naked_  
_I'm numb_  
_I'm stupid_  
_I'm staying_  
_And if Cupid's got a gun_  
_Then he's shooting_

- "Until We Bleed"- Lykke Li & Kleerup.

"BILL!" roared Ron, his voice thick from shouting and panic. "BILL!"

He was too scared to pick Hermione up from the wet sand of the beach. He'd heard what Bellatrix had done. There was probably no bone in her body that wasn't shattered. That was what her screams had indicated anyway.

Hermione's arms and legs twitched. Her eyes reeled round, not focusing on anything. Her breath came out in violent shuddering gasps, like she was trying preparing to scream but couldn't. More panic was building in her.

"Hermione," Ron began, unsure what to do now. His hands moved around the air above her body as he rapidly tried to think what to do. Carry her. Levitate her. Drag her. Kiss her. "'Mione, please... please, it's me! You're safe, you're safe..." it was a lie. Or at least, the truth in his words would only last so long. As long as Voldemort and his monsters were still alive, none of them were safe. They could come back and finish her. That thought made his stomach lurch.

It was Fleur who emerged from the cottage first, with a dish in her oven-gloved hands. "Ron?" she called, not believing it was him. Ron tore his eyes from the shuddering girl beneath him to throw Fleur a look of desperation from across the beach. He saw her eyes widen. She dropped the dish which thudded into the sand by her feet. "RON!"

She ran with a graceful urgency, staring with an expression of pure terror at Hermione as she approached. She threw herself to the ground beside her.

"Pick 'er up, Ron! Now!" Fleur ordered. Despite Fleur's obvious concern, she spoke with a soothing and melodic voice that gave Ron the confidence to do whatever she told him to. She would make Hermione better. If she did not, then...

Somewhere further up the beach, Harry was shouting. The sounds were quickly drowned out by more of Hermione's screams. They were nowhere near as horrific and desperate as the ones in the hellish manor they'd come from, but they still brought pain to Ron's chest as they pierced through him like sudden death.

He was running with her. He wasn't thinking, he wasn't trying.

"Fleur? RON?!" Ron barely acknowledged his brother's presence. Instead, he marched up the stairs with her, crashing into every wall and banister so that Hermione didn't have to. This was proving difficult: her head and arms were hanging limply. She was panting now. Shaking, sobbing, gasping for breath.

"In zere!" exclaimed Fleur, pointing to a room with an open door. The four terrified adults filled the room. Without anybody telling him to, Ron lay Hermione gently on the double bed in the middle of the room. Hermione continued to sob as Fleur prised open her jacket.

"Bill, go and 'elp ze others," Fleur ordered. Bill didn't move. He stood frozen, staring at the writhing girl.

"FUCKING GO!" roared Ron, lurching towards with clenched fists. Bill dashed behind the door and disappeared down the stairs. Ron was back at Hermione's side in an instant. He grabbed her hand. She squeaked.

"Hermione, listen: they're all gone. We're safe. You're safe!"

Fleur drew out her wand from her pocket and made a slashing movement above Hermione. A huge rip formed down her t-shirt.

"Ron," Fleur began, clearing her throat. She was leaning over Hermione, holding her arms down. "Zere is a spell I need to cast, to flush out ze remaining residue from ze curse..." Fleur lifted one of her hands to wipe tendrils of hair from Hermione's damp forehead. "It will hurt. A lot."

"Ron..."

The two of them looked down. Hermione's eyes were shut but she'd definitely spoken. She was far from sleep. Ron felt her hold on his hand tighten. "Please..."

Fleur straightened up and permitted them a shred of privacy by searching for something in the cupboards at the other side of the room. Ron knelt down on the floor beside Hermione's head and leaned close.

"'Mione..." he whispered. He could think of nothing else to say. A tear slid down the side of her face at the sound of her name coming from his lips. "'Mione, please don't cry," but his voice cracked. The lump in his throat tightened and tears stung his own eyes.

"Ron..." she opened her eyes and looked straight at him, her eyes full of the love and adoration that he'd dreamed of seeing for years and years. Maybe he'd see that look again someday, when she was not hurting. "Make it stop."

Tears rolled down his cheeks. "It'll be over soon," he promised her. "Just..." he bit his lip. Of course he couldn't bring himself to tell her that it would be worse before it got better. "Just be patient. It'll all be gone, soon."

"Stay," she whispered. Her eyes fluttered shut as calm finally lulled her to sleep. Ron let a sob escape him. It was so unfair...

"Ready?" asked Fleur, turning back round. She held a white towel in her hand, dripping with water. Ron gulped and nodded, gripping Hermione's hand tighter. She stirred in her sleep. Fleur placed the sopping towel on the nightstand by the bed and ever so carefully tugged Hermione's jacket and shirt open. Ron might've blushed had be not been violently hit with guilt, sorrow and rage: all over Hermione's stomach and chest were dozens upon dozens of deep cuts and scratches, angry streaks of dark red scorching her skin. Every purple blotch in between was a blood-curdling thud of fist or boot against rib in his ears. He surprised himself with his own heart-breaking sobbing.

"Ron, zat was not ze hard bit." Fleur picked up her wand and held it above Hermione. Her hand was trembling. "Zis will only take a minute, OK? It'll be over soon." She looked down at her patient and gulped. With one dramatic swoop of her wand arm, Hermione's body lurched upwards and an ear-piercing shriek erupted from her lips.

Every single one of those cuts started gushing black liquid.

"NOOOOOO!" screamed Hermione. Ron watched in horror as she writhed around violently, oozing black blood, ripping the sheets that were knotted in her hands. "PLEASE! _PLEASE!_" Ron dived for her hand.

"No, Ron! Don't!" barked Fleur, throwing her hand out. Hermione screamed and screamed and screamed. Black liquid soaked the bed and spread around the mattress. Hermione's body lurched so violently that she was almost sitting upright. Fleur quickly ripped Hermione's jacket and t-shirt off her body.

"KILL ME!" she shrieked, fisting her hair and clawing at her neck and chest. "PLEASE! LET ME DIE, LET ME DIE, LET ME DIE!"

"Fleur, please!" sobbed Ron, "What's happening?!"

No sooner had he spoke, Hermione froze in mid-air, completely tense. "Ron..." she wheezed before collapsing limply onto the bed. Fleur breathed a sigh of relief. Ron felt his blood start to boil.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he asked in a low voice. "What have you done to her?"

"Zis black liquid is ze curse residue. She will be OK, Ron."

Sure enough, Hermione was breathing deeply and healthily. If it weren't for the black inky substance that coated her torso, Ron would be certain that she was sleeping normally, as though nothing had happened.

Before Fleur left the room, she draped the wet towel over Hermione's torso. It became permeated with the curse residue immediately. She pulled the towel away and Hermione's body was skin was visible again. If he wasn't so anxious, Ron might've blushed. Her bra was on show.

"Zere iz a potion on the dresser zat will help wiz ze stinging when she wakes up. Zere is also some dreamless sleep. Give her zat if she wants it. Goodnight, Ron."

Fleur left the room. Once the door had clicked shut, Ron felt incredibly awkward. For so many years now, he'd dreamed of him and Hermione in a bedroom together, her lying on a double bed with her shirt torn and her bra on full display. It was a sick joke now that his dream had come true.

Ron noted another point of morbid irony in the melancholy sounds of Hermione's calm breathing, the tranquil lapping of the waves outside and the distant cries of the seagulls. Only seconds ago, all anybody could hear for miles around was Hermione screaming, begging for someone to end her life.

Ron collapsed into the chair and sobbed. Blimey, if Hermione woke up now he'd be fucked. She'd tease him for sure. Or scold him for not covering up her indecency. _Right. Where's a blanket?_ Ron thought, looking around. He then remembered what Fleur had said about Hermione's skin stinging, so he let the thought drop.

"Hermione..." he found himself saying. He looked at her, worried he'd woken her when she stirred. A cute little snore escaped her lips. He smiled. She was zonked. He said her name again slowly, letting each syllable roll of his tongue. He loved how natural her name sounded when he whispered it, and how he could think of nothing he'd rather say to break a silence. Well... there was something else he _could _say, but even though she was asleep, he would wait. He'd say it one day, for sure. But in this period of time, in which she was healing from many types of scars, he would keep his thoughts to himself.

_A/N: Please leave a review!_

_Nel X_


	2. Wicked Game

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you_  
_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do_  
_I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_  
_I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you_

_- _"Wicked Game"- Chris Isaak (James Vincent McMorrow version)

Ron could see why his brother had wanted to live at Shell Cottage: the place was paradise. Having been here while, Ron was almost starting to think that he, Hermione and Harry could stay here forever and pretend that Voldemort didn't exist. That's what it felt like at Shell Cottage: nothing but peace and quiet- a place that did not deserve to be touched by the evil forces at work in the wizarding world.

"Can I come in?" Ron asked, slowly pushing the bedroom door open without waiting for an answer. What he found when he came in was not unusual: Hermione sitting at the window, motionless. She stared out to the sea with dead eyes.

"Hermione?" he tried again. She did not turn. Now he just felt silly, holding the tray of food he'd prepared minutes ago. What had he been thinking? She'd been bloody tortured. She wasn't as shallow or simple as he was to be distracted from all her cares by food. It had been days since he'd seen life in her eyes. _Days _since he'd heard her voice. He missed her. It was killing him.

"You should eat, Hermione. I... made you something."

He placed the tray on the nightstand. Like a cunning mouse avoiding the trap, she'd eat it when she was not being seen. Ron heard the creak of her chair. When he looked up, he nearly jumped out of shock. She was standing up, looking at the tray. Numbly, she walked towards it. Ron was almost scared.

"What is it?" she croaked. Her voice...

"Er... er... it's... a red velvet cake." He gulped and looked down at the soggy mess. "Trust me, it _is _a cake. I know it looks a bit like a deflated quaffle, but..."

"That's my favourite food."

"I know."

Hermione looked up at him. Ron tensed up in the same way that he might've done if she'd leaned in to kiss him. Something far back in the depths of her beautiful brown eyes ignited. His old friend and her old soul swirled back into existence. She was back with him once again and for a second he was relieved, before she flung herself into his arms and cried.

"Hermione?! What's wrong?!" he asked, wrapping his arms cautiously round her shoulders. _Oh nice one, Captain Brain-Cells. Aside from being tortured and permanently scarred for life? Eh, not much... cheers for the shit cake by the way. _Ron had kidded himself into believing that on any other day, Hermione might've found his cake gesture cute. Maybe a little awkward perhaps, or weird, but maybe romantic... Today, though, after all she'd been through, she was probably insulted.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I am so, so sorry!"

Ron blinked hard. "Hermione... what the _bloody hell _have you got to be sorry for?"

She hugged him tighter, her slender arms curling further around his body as she shook with sobs. An action that he would've otherwise been delighted at was now breaking his heart.

"I... Ron, I treated you like dirt! For months, I was horrible to you! And yet you save my life and look after me and the only time you leave my side is to bake me a cake!"

When she was finished, she waited for him to speak. She watched his mouth open and close as he struggled to find the words. Words always bloody failed him.

"I can't believe... Why would... you... Hermione, I..." he knew bloody well what he wanted to say. He just felt the familiar lump in his throat constrict him. He'd look a right prat if he started crying now, in front of her.

"You had every right to be angry," he said feebly. "I was a complete bastard."

When he looked at her again, she was sitting on the bed. She looked so sad. In a way, this was good. It meant she was still alive and feeling.

"How long ago was it, Ron? How long ago were we at Malfoy Manor?" she asked quietly.

"Four days. Why?"

"... it seems longer. It seems like years. I feel like I'm seventy years old. I feel like I've seen everything."

She turned away quickly to face the window. Without thinking, Ron surged forward and gently put a finger to her chin, pulling her face back to face him. He'd be damned if he wasn't allowed to see her face now. When she looked at him again, tears were rolling silently down her cheeks.

"Sorry," she mumbled again, gathering up her pyjama sleeve in her hand, ready to wipe the tears away.

"Let me," said Ron, lowering himself onto his knees before her and gently brushing her tears from her pale cheeks. Inexplicably, she giggled.

"You know, it's funny..." she began, actually smiling for the first time in months. "You and I argue constantly. You frustrate me more than anyone, and whenever I cry it's usually because of you..." Ron swallowed his emotions. Guilt had become his constant companion these past few weeks. It could still catch him unawares. Then, Hermione put a hand to his cheek. "Yet you're the one person who makes me feel like we can win this."

After a few seconds of heart-warming amazement, Ron beamed at her. "Would it be cheeky of me to say that that sentence did wonderful things to my ego?"

She punched him playfully on the arm. Avoiding the areas where he knew there were scars still healing, he tickled her. She squirmed away from him, squealing in surprise. Laughing, they jovially battled together until they were both lying next to each other on the bed, side by side, with Ron feeling uncomfortable but very, very warm. The room was filled with sounds of their heavy breathing and fading laughter. Hermione entwined her fingers into his.

"We will do it, you know," Ron whispered to her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We will win this."

They lapsed into silence. All of Ron's focus was on his right hand and how it burned wonderfully at her touch. It sounded so corny, so fake... but he would go to hell and back for her and his burning hand was a reflection of that.

"Thank you," she said, turning to face him. Their faces were inches apart. "I feel much better."

"Good. I'm glad," he told her earnestly. She smiled warmly, colour coming back to her face.

"How's the polyjuice potion coming along?" she asked suddenly, bringing him back to earth with a crash. He sighed.

"Should be ready in a few days," he replied. Hermione pondered this for a moment before sitting up.

"I want to take it."

"What?"

"I want to be the one to take the potion."

Ron sat bolt upright. "You're joking, right? You're actually joking..."

"Ron, please don't have some sort of gallantry fit. I'm perfectly capable-"

"Hermione, no."

"_Ron!_" She placed her hands on his shoulders, her face now closer than it was before. Ron inhaled sharply. "I. Am. Fine. If I take that potion, I'll feel even better. I'll look like a murderous psychopath, but I'll be strong."

She stood up, almost looking like her usual self: proud, and ready to win an argument over him.

"Besides, and I don't mean to sound big-headed, you and Harry need me."

Ron watched her closely for any signs of faltering. There were none. He groaned and fell back on the bed, rubbing his face in his hands.

"Fine, whatever," he mumbled. He didn't want to argue with her and as much as he hated to admit it, she was right. They wouldn't last five minutes without her. And he didn't want to leave her alone for too long...

"We'd better get started on this cake, then," she said purposefully, sitting back down on the bed. She pulled the tray in between them. "I can't possibly finish all this on my own."


	3. Let the Sky Fall

_A/N: Hello all! I won't ramble, but thanks-a-bunch to everyone who's reviewed/favourited/followed thus far- it's very much appreciated! _

_This bit is set during the Battle in the Chamber of Secrets._

___Let the sky fall,_

_When it crumbles,_

_We will stand tall_

_and face it all together._

The impenetrable stone tunnels of the chamber of secrets offered Ron and Hermione quick relief from the noises of screaming and dying upstairs. It was very quick relief. It struck them both as odd that the part of the castle with the most horrific stories was the one place where anybody was safe.

"That's horrible," shuddered Hermione, appraising the twisted skeleton of the basilisk with disgust.

"Can't be worse that what it looked like in its prime," Ron replied, crouching down to its gaping mouth and grasping one of its larger fangs.

"Be careful!" said Hermione quickly. "Basilisk venom is fatal. There might be some in there still."

Ron tugged on the tooth and it came away easily, a few flecks of bone breaking away with it. He frowned at the fang doubtfully. Surely it wasn't sharp enough to penetrate a horcrux...

"Let's have it, then. Get the cup out."

Hermione fished around in her beaded bag and pulled out the cup. She held it out to Ron, keeping her eyes trained on it at all times. Ron looked at her curiously.

"I completely forgot: you haven't had the honour yet!" he grabbed the cup and put it on the slimy chamber floor, then held the fang out to Hermione. Her eyes widened.

"You do it."

"I can't."

"I really think you should do it."

"No, Ron, I can't!"

"_Yes you can_"

He reached out to her and grabbed her hand. She was clammy and trembling. "When I destroyed the locket, I saw stuff... and yeah, I wouldn't call it my idea of a good time but it's helped me to think."

He gently wrapped Hermione's hand around the basilisk fang.

"You can do it, Hermione. I'm right here."

Hermione watched Ron take a step back with the same desperate loneliness as a child watching her parent leave her on her first day of school. She suddenly became very aware of the fang she was holding and consequentially at the job at hand.

"Alright... alright..." she muttered to herself. She lowered herself to the ground and gave the horcrux a long, hard, determined stare before lifting the fang high above her head and plunging it into the cup.

There was a flash of white light and a foul, dissonant groan and Hermione was thrown backwards.

"I HAVE SEEN YOUR HEART, HERMIONE GRANGER," said the sickening, rasping voice of Lord Voldemort. "I HAVE SEEN YOUR FUTURE."

Hermione watched in horror as great whirlwinds of black smoke and ash spiralled and conversed around each other into a slowly- forming shape. Bizarrely, this shape was not horrific nor dreadful. The smoke dissolved, and in its place stood a very pretty girl.

"Mummy?" the girl whimpered. Hermione's eyes widened impossibly further. The small child, with shocking red hair and a filthy white dress was crying, reaching out to Hermione.

"Mummy, please, help!" the girl cried. Somewhere in the corner of the room, Ron was shouting.

"Mummy, it hurts... please don't fight, I'm scared," the girl stepped forward. Her feet were soaked in blood. Hermione's body cranked up into a sitting position.

"Don't cry..." Hermione heard a voice say, not willing to believe that it was her own. She hadn't opened her mouth...

"Mummy, _please_!" begged the girl. "I need you! We need each other!" the girl walked towards Hermione until she was standing over her, her tears nearly falling onto her. However, they evaporated into smoke inches from Hermione's body.

"Please, Mummy. Please don't fight anymore. You can't die. Grandma and Grandpa are gone. Daddy's gone. I'm all you have left!"

Dozens of questions crackled in Hermione's mouth like popping candy, but one question in particular was crashing around in her mind, making her head spin. She felt her hand twitch upwards towards the girl, but with the girl being so close, she could see something far down in the depths of the girl's sky blue eyes purr. A victorious, satisfied sneer of something so evil, it would pray on any weak creature in its path.

"NO!" cried Hermione, squeezing the fang in her hand once more. The fear and confusion she'd felt seconds ago quickly erupted into a surge of anger, and Hermione plunged the fang into the cup once more. Relief washed over her like a tranquil stream over a rock as the painful cries of Voldemort echoed around the chamber, but that did not stop tears stinging her eyes as the beautiful red-haired girl screamed and burned in front of her, being engulfed in a white light before flashing out of existence.

As the last of the screaming echoes dissolved into the stone walls, all that was left were the sounds of Hermione and Ron's panting.

"You did it..." Ron breathed.

The previously shiny cup was now rusty and tarnished, with a huge crack down the side where Hermione had stabbed it. She heard Ron come to stand beside her. He held out a hand.

"You did it, Hermione," he said again. This time, she looked up at him. The look of awe she'd been hoping to see wasn't there. Instead, he looked solemn. She took his hand and he pulled her up to a standing position.

"Whatever the horcrux showed you," he began. "it was lying."

The pair were very close together. Neither of them moved back. Instead, Hermione saw Ron's eyes flicker downwards to her lips. Her heartbeat was so loud, it was embarrassing.

"You said that when you destroyed the locket, it helped you think. What did you mean by that?" she asked, keeping her lips parted. Ron's eyes met hers again.

"It helped me make some decisions."

"and when are you going to act on those decisions?"

Ron blinked several times as he stared at her. Eventually, his jaw seemed to lock and his eyes fell to the floor.

"We should probably gather up these fangs then," he mumbled. Hermione frowned, but agreed.

In silence, they gathered the fangs and marched back through the chamber to the bottom of the drop. After a few moments of awkward re-arranging of fangs in arms, Ron was able to comfortably sit and steer the broomstick with a fearful Hermione clinging on behind him. For Ron, her arm around his waist was a pleasant distraction from the violent whirlpool of questions and answers sloshing around in his head. For Hermione, her hold on his strong stomach was not at the forefront of her mind for very long. The image of that girl from the horcrux was still burned in her retinas. Every fine detail of the girl's tattered dress, bruised limbs and tear-streaked face was right there, clearing her mind of all else: the most probing aspect of the whole vice being the fact that the girl who'd called her 'Mummy' had striking red hair...

_I have seen your heart, Hermione Granger..._ The horcrux had told her. _I have seen your future._

She became even more wary of her grip on Ron's waist then. His unbalanced whooshing and diving and vertical flying did not phase her, in the scheme of things. This girl, her daughter... was she Ron's too?

_Whatever the horcrux told you_, Ron had said afterwards, _it was lying._

Ron landed with a thud on the stone floor of the girls' bathroom, jolting a few fangs out of their arms. He felt Hermione numbly retract her arm from around his waist. He opened his mouth to ask her if she was alright, but the screaming and banging of the battle was audible up here, and the adrenaline and fear of war seeped back into Ron's veins. Apparently, Hermione had a similar reaction to the noises.

"Right," she said finally, taking a deep breath. "We find Harry!"

"We find Harry," Ron repeated quietly as Hermione opened the bathroom door. The sounds of chaos flooded the bathroom. Death and destruction were mere feet away, and they were walking straight into them with their arms full of fangs and questions still unanswered.

The moment the two of the turned the corner, they saw carnage again. Death eaters leaping and bounding from staircase to staircase, students and teachers throwing curses and hexes around the room, flashes of green and red snapping and banging in the air.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted over the deafening noises, tipping all the fangs into one arm and lurching forward to grab her hand. Hermione whirled round, startled. It was wonder, really, how in the ugliness of conflict and prejudice and truly horrific death, there was still such a beautiful face that could anchor him to sanity.

"What is it, Ron?! We _have _to find Harry!" she yelled. Ron's mouth went dry.

"Ron, _we need to go_!"

"Hermione, if we both survive tonight, will you go on a date with me?"

It was as though all of Voldemort's death eaters had respectfully ceased fire to listen in to Hermione's answer, because Ron could hear nothing but the excruciating silence that met his question. Hermione's gormless stare was unreadable for a long time, before a shrill, hysterical laugh escaped her lips.

"You're asking me out?! NOW?! _IN THE MIDDLE OF A BLOODY WAR?!_"

"It's now or never, isn't it?" he asked feebly, his face going beetroot. Hermione's face burned a similar colour, though Ron was sure it was out of fury.

"You're a fool, Ronald Weasley," she growled. Tears welled up in her eyes for the split second that Ron was able to see her face before she threw herself into him. The fangs in her arms poked Ron's stomach uncomfortably but she pressed her forehead into his chest in such a loving way that he was sure she was mocking him. When a loud bang resonated around them, she got up on her tiptoes and put her lips to his ear.

"If you'd asked me out a year ago, or maybe even a day ago, I wouldn't be so scared of dying tonight." she whispered, her voice thick with sadness. She was close enough to him that she could speak this quietly and she would still be the loudest sound to him. It was almost as though they were completely alone.

She pulled back with a face of determination and started hurrying back towards the fighting.

"Was that a yes?!" Ron called after her, running after her.

"Put it this way, Ronald: if you even _think _about dying in this war, I will kill you!"

"Is that a yes?" he asked again, the juvenile frustration of first love roaring with laughter deep inside of him, reminding him that he was just a boy, and that fighting in this war was ridiculous. Never the less, Hermione Granger had left him with another unanswered question. It slotted in with all the others. _Will you ever forgive me for leaving? Did you really snog Krum at the Yule Ball? Will you marry me?_

A year ago, he would've wretched at that last one. But since his fate could go either way tonight, there was a possibility of a future blaring in his face; an entire life that he'd have to do something with. Surely a mere child wouldn't be thinking of such things.

Ron followed after Hermione feeling really bloody old, but he couldn't care less. He was proud of the fact that if he was going to win this battle, he was doing it for her.

_A/N: What do you think? PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW!_

_If it's not terrible, how about reading my other fic? _

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_Thanks a Million!_

_Nel. X_


	4. O Children

_A/N: This is a long one. Thanks to all those who've favourited/followed/REVIEWED so far! _

_Hey little train, we're jumping on  
The train that goes to the Kingdom  
We're happy, Ma, we're having fun  
And the train ain't even left the station_

- "O Children" by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds

It was a sour victory. Hermione was sure that the losses faced by so many mourners in this beautiful place would leave a permanent scar that was currently stinging her heart. It was so unfair. So many good people, so many children...

Hermione walked stiffly through the great hall, away from the despairing Weasley family. All her bruises and aching muscles made her body feel thick and heavy. She was so _tired._

However painful her grief was, relief washed over her like water over coals once she was standing in the portcullis, looking out over the battered bridge and the sore forest. There was a breeze so pleasant, that this world was suddenly unrecognisable. There was no way that such peace could exist in a land where the utter horrors had occurred the night before. Still, at least peace was _here _now. No screaming, no banging, no death. There was a tranquil breeze and twittering birds. Such pleasant sounds were tainted, though, with the sad sounds of parents sobbing. Hermione swallowed thickly as her legs dragged her forwards, out of the castle and over the bridge. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn't care.

When the sun had truly risen, Hermione was sitting as the base of a large oak tree, overlooking the lake. The feel of grass underneath her sensitive, red fingertips was ever so calming and the gentle sloshing of the lake tide against rocks made her itch to go in, but she knew she needed hot water. She'd need privacy. Her clothes were fused to scabs all over her body and stripping would be a painful process in more ways than one.

"Harry's crying," said a voice she'd been hoping to hear for hours now.

Hermione looked round so quickly that her neck hurt. Ron Weasley stood there in his usual bulky, boyish stance. "In a good way, though. Happy tears. Mum's being all clucky with him, telling him she's like a son to him. Which is weird, I guess, 'cos Ginny is Mum's daughter. But she's offered him a home and everything. He's... well, he's pretty happy."

"That's kind of her," she held out her hand, gesturing for him to take it and sit down beside her. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

"Ugh," Hermione groaned as her whole body twanged with pain. She swayed when she stood, unable to command full use of her leg muscles yet. Ron's arms were around her waist instantly, steadying her.

"Thanks," she muttered. He was still silent. She looked up at him then. His face and hair really were filthy, as were hers probably. He did not meet her eyes. Instead, looked at the ground near them.

"We need baths," he said. "Unless you wanted to be alone out here..."

"Not at all!" she said, a little too enthusiastically. Whatever she did with her voice or face today, it would make no difference. She realised that when they started walking back towards the castle, hand in hand, in total silence.

Hermione thought of a thousand different things to say as they reached the castle once more. The silence was comfortable, in a deeply sorrowful way. In the way that silence usually is where death is concerned.

Ron's hold on her hand had not been tight not had it been loose, nor affectionate, nor impassive as they'd walked. It was entirely nondescript. Once they'd ascended the first staircase towards the Gryffindor common room, Ron's grip began to tighten. Hermione didn't know what to do. It was as soon as they were in the empty common room, having been let in without the need of a password by a mournful Fat Lady, that Ron suddenly squeezed her hand painfully. Hermione squeezed back. When she did, he stopped walking.

"Hermione..." said Ron, though it did not sound like him at all. His voice was much too high-pitched. When Hermione looked at him, his face was screwed up, fighting tears.

Hermione said nothing. She didn't even think, she just acted. She threw her arms around his waist and within nanoseconds of Ron's first sob escaping, the two of them were collapsed on the floor crying loudly into each other's shoulders. Hermione forced herself to picture a living, happy Fred. It made her cry harder. Each sob was detoxifying. Before long, they were even more exhausted than before. Their faces hurt.

"I hate this," said Ron, his voice muffled by her jacket as he nuzzled her shoulder. She hugged him tighter.

"I know."

Hermione let him go and stood up, ignoring her pains and holding her hands out to Ron. "Come on," she commanded. She pulled him up when she grabbed his hands. Every time his sad eyes met hers, she wanted to cry again. However, she would not let herself do that. Not yet, and not in front of him.

"Baths," she said.

She lead him to the girl's bathroom and locked the door. She sighed out of tiredness as she turned the knobs of the showers in two stalls next to each other. Steam began rising from the top of each stall quickly. When they took off their jackets, Hermione inspected hers for damage. There was a gaping, singed hole in the back of it. She didn't remember receiving a curse in her back. The cuffs of her sleeves were burnt and there were torn holes everywhere.

"Should I keep it as a memoir?" she chuckled darkly, discarding it with distain at her feet. She kicked sat on the edge of one of the baths to take off her shoes and socks. Some feet away, Ron pulled his t-shirt off. Hermione's eyes shifted to his bare torso and locked on to his stomach. He had no abs, no pecks, no physical traits of your archetypal quidditch player. Only muscular arms and a generous amount of bruises.

He glanced at her then. Although he did not look smug, Hermione quickly averted her eyes, going pink in the face. Just then, Hermione considered how he'd known she was looking at him. He'd been looking at his shoes. Her gaze hadn't been _that _conspicuous...

Hermione took hold of the hem of her t-shirt. As soon as she did, Ron cleared his throat and strode into the shower, his jeans still on. Once he'd pulled the curtain shut, Hermione heard a zip and rustling. Seconds later, his were draped over the wall of the next stall.

She pulled her t-shirt off and shuddered. The showers may've been steamy, but the stone-walled room was still freezing. Once her jeans were off, her skin had broken out in goose bumps.

"Don't come out!" she called to Ron.

"Er- I won't!"

As quickly as she could, she whipped her knickers and bra off and shoved them into her beaded bag.

"Oh, Hermione?"

She froze. "Yes?!" she squeaked, praying to God he didn't _have _to come out.

"Could you pass me a towel?"

She disguised her sigh of relief as one of annoyance. She went over to the linen cupboard at the back of the room and fished out two Gryffindor-red towels. Walking around naked in the same room as an equally-naked Ron gave Hermione a painfully strong adrenaline rush, in a similar way to when they'd broken into Gringotts. Beneath the monstrous fear of him opening that curtain, she was a little aroused.

"Here you go," she said, draping the towel over the shower curtain pole. Once he'd thanked her, she stepped into her own shower.

She had to stifle her groans. It was a painful pleasure that she felt under the spray of the shower. The hot water penetrated her cuts and grazes and it stung, but it also massaged the knots out of her muscles and extinguished her shivers. It felt so good.

Ron's shower cut off and his curtain opened.

"I don't suppose we have any clean clothes, do we?" he asked.

"Hang on a minute," she replied. She shut her own water off and wrapped the towel tightly around her. "I'm coming out," she said. She rolled her eyes. She hadn't meant it to sound like a warning.

She pulled her curtain open to find Ron standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking blankly at the beaded bag. He turned round to say something to her, but as his eyes dropped lower, he seemed to decide to save it. Hermione allowed herself a little smile.

She went over to her beaded bag and shoved her arm inside, her other hand clutching the knot of her towel. She pulled out an old t-shirt of Ron's.

"Here you go," she said, holding the t-shirt out to him. She regretted it as soon as his eyes landed on her arm.

"Keep it," he said quietly. "I can sleep without a top. It'll be weird if you do too."

As soon as they looked at each other, the lighter subtext of last night's battle came to the forefront of Hermione's mind. They both exchanged silent queries of: _where do we stand?_ They'd only just kissed a few hours ago. What... how... when... what now?!

As Hermione drank in Ron's appearance: clean, with brighter hair, brighter eyes and an expression that she couldn't quite place, she wondered whether he'd look the same tomorrow. Or next week... _next week. Next year._ In the future, at any rate. It suddenly dawned on Hermione that for the first time in many years, there was absolutely nothing in front of her. She could do anything. There was no Voldemort. There might not even be a school to go back to.

"We should... probably sleep," said Ron after clearing his throat.

"Er, yes... sleep," she agreed awkwardly.

They both stepped into dry shower stalls with their clothes to change for bed. Hermione had to muster up all of her Gryffindor courage to emerge from the stall in knickers and his t-shirt. Luckily enough, Ron was similarly indecent. He wore his jeans how on his hips, with no shirt. Hermione's stomach flipped when Ron's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.

"Shall we go to bed? I mean, shall we have sleep? I mean, shall we go to sleep?"

Hermione giggled and bit her lip. Ron swallowed. If Hermione hadn't been so desperate for sleep, she might've prolonged this tense moment. She held out her hand.

"Come on, then," she said, and he immediately took her hand. They walked in silence out of the bathroom and up the stairs to the bedrooms. Hermione felt a little anxiety rising inside her. Ron stopped them both outside the boys' dormitory and pushed the ajar door open.

Only one bed, Ron's, was empty. The others were filled with Weasleys and other survivors, all crammed into beds, deep in slumber. People were sleeping on top of each other, on the floor, and some even with strangers. In the bed in the far corner, Ginny slept in the arms of Harry Potter.

"Well, this saves us an awkward debate about sleeping arrangements," Ron joked, causing Hermione to giggle quietly.

Ron tiptoed over the sleeping people on the floor and flung his blankets back. He quietly climbed into the bed as far back as he could go and looked to Hermione. Instantly, she followed suit. She made her way over to the bed and slid in after him.

_Now, what on earth do we do now?_

Hermione had watched movies and read books. She knew how it worked. She turned away from Ron and faced the door. It was a little disconcerting that the scattering of parents who were sleeping on the floor would wake up and see her face in all its hideous glory, but all that was quickly forgotten when Ron wrapped his strong arm around Hermione's waist. She shifted backwards, closer to him. He radiated warmth and his own Ron-ish scent. That, combined with the comfy mattress, soft pillow and worn blankets, Hermione was in heaven.

"We survived," she sighed, stroking the soft hairs on Ron's arm.

"We survived," he agreed, hugging her tighter.

"You owe me a date."

The silence that Hermione had anticipated went on for a little too long. She almost regretted bringing it up again, but what else could she do? Suddenly, she felt Ron's lips at her ear.

"I definitely owe you a date," he whispered. He pulled away, but not before brushing his lips lightly across her damp hair. It wasn't a kiss, but it sure was endearing.

"Night, 'Mione,"

"Night, Ron."

It wasn't night. But the sentiment stayed the same: when they woke up, they would be new people. The world would be new, but recognisable. There was something to look forward to, and they sure as hell would not be children anymore.

_A/N: Please leave a review! X_


	5. All Fall Down

All Fall Down

_A/N: Thanks to all who've reviewed thus far- how very kind of you X_

_Lost till you're found_  
_Swim till you drown_

_Know that we all fall down_  
_Love till you hate_  
_Strong till you break_  
_Know that we all fall down_

_- _"All Fall Down" by OneRepublic.

For the first time in months, Hermione did not wake up groggily. She'd slept for twenty hours and had despite her aches and pains that she guessed were going to be bothering her for quite some time, she was content. The morning was bright and tranquil. The dormitory had been cleared of most of the people sleeping in there the previous day and someone had laid an extra blanket over Hermione in the night. She did not, however, feel the warm body behind her that she'd expected to feel.

She sat up. She was alone in her bed, and Harry's bed was empty. She sighed. She'd hoped for a lie-in with Ron. It sounded selfish in her head, yes, but it also sounded romantic. The vivid memory of Ron's warm arms around her made her shiver with delight. If that kiss was anything to go by, another opportunity to have a lie-in with him might arise sometime in the future.

To her surprise, a pair of her old jeans had been folded and left at the foot of the bed. They were clean, or at least someone had scourgified them. She grabbed them and wrestled to get them on under the blankets, lest any of the remaining strangers woke up and saw her in her underwear. When she stood up, it was evident how much weight she'd lost on their travels. These jeans, which were once tight-fitting, were now baggy at her hips and were not flattering at all. Hermione sighed and pulled Ron's t-shirt down over her arse.

Hermione tiptoed down the stone steps to the common room. The place was really too quiet to make any noise. She found a red-haired woman staring into the unlit fire.

"Mrs Weasley?" she called. Molly turned round, her face clear of any signs of crying. Somehow, she smiled brightly.

"Hermione, dear! I see you found your jeans! I did the best I could with them. Ron was making a pig's dinner out of them when I found him!"

Hermione smiled. The day after a war, the day after her son had died, Molly Weasley had been washing people's jeans. A mental image came to Hermione: Ron furiously scrubbing the mud of her jeans, getting flustered and panicky as he spread the dirt. Then, Molly coming to the rescue and pushing a red-faced Ron aside. That made her giggle.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley. For everything."

Molly gave a watery smile. "Oh, hush. I'm only looking after you! Just like... just like..."

Molly's bottom lip wobbled. With a large amount of force, she threw her arms around Hermione's neck.

"Oh, Hermione! Thank you for taking care of my boys! _Thank you_!" she pulled away, her face as red and wet as it had been all day yesterday. She took Hermione's face in her hands.

"I've relayed this to Harry, too: you're coming home with us. I know there's plenty left to be done, but you and Harry are leaving with us on the later train and you're going to eat properly and get some good nights' sleep. Do you hear me?"

It was Hermione's turn to get bleary-eyed now. As she did so, Molly hugged her again. Although Hermione wished that it was her own mother that she was hugging, she was touched. Molly Weasley was truly a heroine.

"Now," said Molly, pulling away again. "You go and find Harry and Ron downstairs. I'm sure there at the breakfast table and you are looking quite peaky. Get some breakfast, dear!"

Hermione left without another word, convinced that she heard a sob escape Mrs Weasley as she exited the portrait hole. She considered going back and hugging her once more, but what good would that do? There was no consolation for losing a child, and Hermione would be damned if she prevented Molly from crying her despair away.

As she wondered down the staircases and along corridors, she felt disappointed. She had slept while other people had slaved over clearing away the majority of debris: the corridor floors were clean and the stairs were clear of rubble. There were still ripped paintings, burnt tapestries and big chunks missing from stone banisters. All these holes in Hogwarts would take a lot of time to patch up.

Harry and Ron were not in the Great Hall. Rather, they sitting cross-legged opposite each other on the grass outside, half way between the castle and Hagrid's hut. She spotted them instantly: the flecks of black and orange against the green grass. She strolled down the path towards them, basking in the pleasant breeze that made another appearance today. When the two men saw her coming, they smiled very different smiles.

"We didn't want to wake you," Harry called as she approached. "You were zonked out. We just nipped out for some air."

"It's nice out here," she concurred, sitting down with them. "So what've you two been talking about?"

Harry sighed. "Life. The future."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "That sounds heavy. What lies in store for The Boy Who Lived, then?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I spoke to Kingsley yesterday. He thinks the Ministry will want to extract certain people's memories, for archives and such. Then there's rebuilding the castle..."

As Harry spoke, Hermione felt a slight charge between her and the silent ginger sitting on the other side of her. She glanced sideways at Ron and found him smirking at her. She grinned back. They were thinking the same thing: If Harry wasn't there, they'd be having an entirely different conversation.

"I meant," Hermione interjected. "your long-term future. Are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"Nah, that ship sailed long ago, I reckon," he replied, leaning back on his elbows. "Weird, isn't it? One poxy little war, and I'm actually taking my future seriously. I never used to think about houses and careers and marriage and stuff"

Hermione grinned. "Thinking of getting married, are you?" she teased. An expression of fear grew on Harry's face as he glanced at Ron, who cleared his throat.

"Erm... maybe. But that's years away, isn't it? We're young and... Ron, what do you think?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, fine. Why should I care? Do what you want. I don't mind. Why would I?"

"I think Harry was asking..." Hermione began, effectively saving Harry. "...whether you think you might get married one day."

Ron didn't look at her. He kept playing with the grass in his fingers. "I s'pose I'll have to," he said finally. "I wouldn't last ten minutes on my own. And I'm not bloody well living with Mum all my life!"

Harry and Hermione laughed a little, before the melancholy atmosphere of the castle washed over its scenery, engulfing the three friends with it. Hermione looked up and saw several owls circling the turrets of Hogwarts: people were sending news and receiving sympathies. Parents were sending letters begging their children to write to them, inform them that they're still alive. No such responses would ever be received.

"We should go inside," Hermione said quickly, before tears could form. "We need to eat something and the train's leaving soon. We need to pack."

Inside the castle, other people had apparently had the same idea. A train to King's Cross was leaving at midday, and there was a communal surge in reluctance to hang about any more than they had to.

"There's no more for you two to do," Professor McGonagall reassured them as Ron and Hermione assisted the teachers in ushering families into the carriages. "It'll take a great deal of powerful magic to repair the castle; the type of magic that requires absolute focus..." she trailed off, her eyes flickering to Ron. He stared at her, as confused as Hermione was. Professor McGonagall placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"The Dead are being kept in Professor Flitwick's old classroom. I think you should pay a visit."

The Dead. _The Dead. _That word echoed around Hermione's brain loudly like footsteps in a museum. The preciousness of life was something she'd only contemplated once since the Battle, and it had been a selfish exploration of her own life's value. She looked at Ron, who seemed hurt by McGonagall's proposal. Hermione threaded her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. Ron blinked back into focus and smiled half-heartedly at her. On the one hand, he was about to really see his brother in a coffin. On the other hand, Hermione would be with him. She'd be with him in a way that he wouldn't have wanted Harry or Ginny to be with him.

Every step towards Professor Flitwick's classroom was another roll of nausea. When they reached the corner turning into that corridor, they both paused as though expecting to see mangled bodies pouring out from the door. When they did turn the corner, they found two couples of parents in an embrace, weeping quietly. They approached the door painfully slowly. Before Hermione could open it, it was opened from the inside. Harry stepped out, his face red and wet.

"I'll see you guys on the train," he said, his voice admirably composed. If that was all it took for Hermione's heart to break, then the next few minutes would be very painful indeed.

The room was warm, baked in the afternoon sunlight which Hermione always remembered it to be. Only, all the furniture was gone. No desks, no blackboard, no chairs, no paintings and no books. Just the resonating echo of their footsteps and dozens of coffins. They were all shut. Draped neatly over each one was a sheet, like a tablecloth, adorned with the colour and crest of whichever house the person inside had belonged to. A torn piece of paper, with a name on, lay on top of each. Without a word, Ron gently lead Hermione over to a coffin which was covered in a dull red sheet. On top of the brave Gryffindor crest was a scrap of paper with the scribbled name: _Fred Weasley._

"Fucking hell..." Ron murmured before choking back a sob. As soon as Hermione began to snake her arms around his waist, he pulled her into his chest and sobbed into her hair.

She would've given anything to be able to absorb his pain: to let his heart rest, to make him feel peace... of course, she could not. Little did she know, her closeness to him was what made this moment of grieving a short one. Life would go on, and Ron had a life to lead. He'd established that days ago.

"There are so many Freds," she heard him say when his cries died down. He lifted his head and looked around the room, tears falling freely but calmly. "Tom Riddle's dead and he's still hurting people."

"It'll get better," Hermione whispered, wiping her own tears away. "But it's going to be hard.

They heard the classroom door handle being slowly turned. The door creaked and in stepped Professor McGonagall.

"Are you two alright?" she asked them. Hermione glanced up at Ron, awaiting his answer. He nodded.

McGonagall frowned. "Then you'd better find Mr Potter on the train. We'd rather you weren't present for this bit,"

Mr and Mrs Weasley stepped into the room from the corridor, accompanied by Kinglsey and Percy. Molly Weasley's face held possibly the most heart-breaking expression Hermione had ever seen. She looked helpless. Still, she smiled weakly at Hermione as she and Ron sidled past them, out the door.

"What are they doing in there?" Ron asked.

"I expect they're opening the coffin. You know, to check... before they bring him home."

It was painful to say. It sounded cruel, like telling a five-year-old that their parent had died. It should never happen to anybody, yet here they were.

The sound of Molly's raw, despairing wail distracted them both and urged them away towards the train. Anything to get away from the reminder that Fred was really, truly gone.

It was a mournful pilgrimage to the train. Nobody raised their voices over a whisper... not until they reached the platform.

"HARRY POTTER"

"OI, YOU THREE!

"JUST A QUICK WORD, MISTER POTTER!"

"MISTER POTTER, HOW DID YOU DO IT?"

"CAN WE ASK YOU A FEW QUESTIONS, PLEASE?!"

Journalists and reporters swarmed the platform, pushing mourners to the side, flashing cameras and scribbling furiously with quills and shouting in Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's faces. Before long, they were being bustled this way and that with no control over where they went. It was chaos.

"IN HERE!" called Arthur Weasley, who was on the train and holding a door open. The group of Weasleys crammed into the carriage as fast as they could. Ron practically carried Hermione in, then dragged her into the compartment that the Weasleys were filling up. Mr Weasley went to slide the door shut, but journalists were already on the train.

"GET OUT! OUT, I SAY!" roared Kingsley, elbowing his way furiously through the congregation. They yelled and swore at him as he slid into the Weasley's carriage and batted off the journalists' hands. He slammed the door shut.

"Have they no shame?" Molly wheezed, clutching her chest.

In an odd way, Hermione was glad that they'd almost been mobbed. Their fear, confusion and shock was a little distraction from heart-wrenching grief.

"Harry, Hermione, when these _animals_ get off the train," began Kingsley, shouting the word in the direction of the journalists. "I really need to speak with you."

Hermione was sure that Kingsley made a mistake in not including Ron's name.

"Of course," said Hermione, knowing Kingsley would want to warn them in private about the media attention they'd face in the coming weeks.

"You will do no such thing!" barked Mrs Weasley. Everyone turned and stared at her. She was still out of breath, but she managed to look shocked at her own words.

"Molly, I'm afraid it's urgent."

"I don't care."

Molly looked distracted as she spoke, as though trying to remember something: her usual amiable composure, perhaps. Finally, as Hermione saw something click and solidify in her eyes, Molly stood up.

"You call those people animals, and rightly so... but they weren't there. They didn't fight. They didn't know anybody who died, otherwise they would not be here. _You, _Kingsley, were fighting throughout. As grateful as we are, I cannot believe that you'd be so insensitive as to start peddling your politics to us hours after our Fred was killed."

Silence filled the carriage as Fred's name sunk in. _Our Fred... was killed. _Hermione looked over to George. He was the only one who was not noticably moved by his mother's words. Rather, he was staring out of the window. His posture was the living embodiment of indifference. _  
_

Kingsley said no more. He bowed his head and opened the carriage door again. More questions were yelled into the compartment but none were listened to. When the door closed, the family were left in silence once more.

The train whistled, and the journalists scattered from the carriage. The scenery outside began rolling backwards and the train was off. Outside, the castle grew smaller. Hermione pictured the people inside: the helpers, the cleaners, the people left behind... all together in the place that had been her home for six years. She was leaving it, and it tugged at her heart. _Goodbye. _

_A/N: You know what to do: REVIEW IT. Even if you're already following- I'd love to hear from you! It means the world to me!_

_PLEASE NOTE: I will now be limiting my updates on 'Skin' to Saturdays only- unless I am otherwise engaged. My other fic "Alternative" will be updated on Sundays. _

_THANKS!_

_Nel X_


	6. Speeding Cars

_A/N: Thank you to all those who've reviewed so far, _

_oOo_

_Here's the day you hoped would never come  
Don't feed me violins  
just run with me through rows of speeding cars._

_- _"Speeding Cars" by Imogen Heap.

oOo

Two more days passed. Kingsley attempted another visit, but was quickly shooed by a furious Arthur. Hermione, to her disappointment, saw very little of Ron. When they were together, they were at dinner, surrounded by his family. Dinners were awkward, especially for Hermione and Harry. Hermione would've sounded incredibly pretentious if she praised Molly and Arthur on their attempts at light-hearted banter as she served up the meals, so she said nothing. Ron said nothing. Harry said nothing. Ginny said nothing. Percy said nothing. George was never there.

Hermione spent most of those two days politely obeying Molly in helping with odd jobs around the house: laundry and so forth. Occasionally, Molly would walk past the clock or a family portrait and rush off to cry. Hermione would again remain silent, but take up the task that Molly was doing. Whenever Molly returned, they would continue as though she'd never left, but Molly would tap her arm eventually, as a silent gesture of gratitude. Hermione would jump at the flicker of openness, but would lapse back into work mode moments later. Fred was family, she was not.

Another day passed. Bill and Fleur arrived to help Arthur and Molly with funeral preparations. The four of them sat in the living room with the door closed as they planned and wrote invites. Fleur slipped out occasionally to help Hermione with the dishes or the gardening, and Hermione grew quite fond of Fleur. It was natural, of course, as she was the only person who had really spoke to her in days.

"What's new?" asked Hermione one evening, as she and Fleur pruned the rose bushes around the back of the house. "Are the plans coming together alright?"

"Zey are coming along okay, oui. It will be ze day after tomorrow."

Fleur stood up and stretched her back. "Cette pauvre mere... I hope zere is closure for Madame Weasley..."

"I expect there will be," assured Hermione, tossing her hedge-clippers onto the ground and lying back. "But it won't be sunshine and rainbows just yet."

"Non, c'est evident... 'ave you spoken to your beau, yet?" Fleur nodded up in the direction of Ron's room. His bedroom light was on. Hermione could see no movement.

"No," she sighed. "I don't want to intrude."

"But he eez lonely, no?"

"Not lonely, just... just alone."

Hermione winced at the memory of her solitude at Shell Cottage, and how every moment she spent away from people made her more happy that they were there, and still could be. Although, she only really felt better when Ron came up...

"Regardé," said Fleur suddenly. She was looking out to the fenced field beside the house. "C'est Harry, non?"

Hermione followed Fleur's gaze and saw, obscurely in the evening darkness, a figure sitting alone in the long grass. Hermione sighed again.

"He's been like that for days."

"Que, sitting in a field?"

"No... just staring into space. I'd be worried, but he's been talking and helping out and... I just think this is his way of... oh, I don't know."

She hadn't lied. She was not worried. Selfishly, she did wish that he'd snap out of it. She was getting lonely. She and Fleur might've been closer had Fleur not become a Weasley herself. Fleur was their family, however tenuously linked she was with Fred. Hermione had only kissed Ron a few days ago, and as such felt as though she didn't belong there. If she could only speak to Harry, maybe she wouldn't feel so alone...

...maybe that's why they hadn't sent her away yet: because she had nowhere else to go.

"'Ermione?" asked Fleur quietly. "Ma chere, don't cry..."

Hermione wiped her face. A tear had fallen. How odd.

"Come on. We should prepare dinner. Allez."

Fleur had Hermione sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes within seconds. Another evening of silent tears, silent eating and silent mourning would pass, and Hermione would let the Weasley family mourn how they liked.

A fourth day passed. George emerged from his room for breakfast. Luckily, Molly did not break down as she had done every other time she'd seen his or Fred's face.

"Tuck in, everyone!" Molly said in a despairingly cheerful way. "Lots to be done today! Fleur, you're taking Hermione shopping, yes? Good. Ron, you're coming into Diagon Alley with me today to find a suit. Ginny, you've got a black dress, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Excellent!"

Molly sat down with the family, a smile fixed on her face. Arthur started his routine small-talk with her about his work schedule and the weather, which she engaged in animatedly. Hermione had thought that their little pantomime, added to Molly's teetering on the brink of hysteria, would not help with the atmosphere among the other Weasleys. But, she was wrong. Ginny had extra helpings of porridge and ate quickly, as did Bill, who cracked a dry joke to Ginny and made her give a weak laugh. George and Percy were not changed, of course, but Ron... Ron had sat next to Hermione at every meal time for the past four days, despite not saying a word to her. Today, he dropped his arm to sit on his leg and the slid it across to Hermione's. Ever so gently, he laced his fingers with hers.

Hermione's heart stopped. Tears sprang uncontrollably to her eyes as he affectionately stroked her knuckles with his thumb. She blinked them back, knowing that misery would ensue if the Weasleys saw her crying. In response, she briefly stroked his ankle with her socked foot. At this, he weakly smiled.

The day of the funeral arrived. The sunshine was beautiful.

Hermione woke in her usual place, on the camp bed in Ginny's room, with glorious sunlight pouring in through the window. For anyone else's funeral, she might've been angered. But not for Fred's. For Fred's funeral, people should've been wearing yellows and pinks and greens and orange... especially orange... people should be dropping whoopee cushions on each other's seats and casting Dancing Feet hexes at each other and laughing and smiling.

Hermione slipped into her black dress. Yesterday, Hermione and Fleur had shared a light-hearted moment when Fleur insisted on paying for the dress, calling it a "Congratulations-on-winning-a-war present". It was a nice dress, no doubt about that. It was shallow, though, that Hermione should analyze herself so closely in the mirror, picturing ideal reactions from Ron when really, Ron would be paying no attention to her at all. He wouldn't even notice she was there. His brother was going to be put in the ground. He was going to be lowered into the family plot just a few yards into the woods by their house, where several dozen of his ancestors were currently rotting...

Hermione wretched and ran to the bathroom. She slammed the door shut and took deep breaths against it.

"Pull yourself together..." she whispered to herself. When she was sure she was not going to be sick, she hauled herself up from leaning against the door. Before leaving the bathroom, she allowed herself to quickly check herself in the small bathroom mirror, where the light was a little harsher. Apart from the dress, she was a sorry sight: impossible hair, dark circles under her eyes... a patch of violent red on her arm that she had not allowed herself to think about since the Shell Cottage. There really was such a thing as a nightmare scar... she would just have to wear a cardigan.

The funeral began. Hermione sat at the back, clutching Harry's arm, sobs wracking her body from the moment the coffin entered the giant gazebo. She listened numbly to the emotional speeches made by Arthur, Percy and Fred's old friend Lee. Arthur had to pause during his speech as his wife let a distraught wail escape her. She fell into her chair. Ginny slid down into the seat beside her and stroked her back as Arthur continued.

By the time Fred's body was being lowered into the ground, it had been made clear to those who it mattered to that Fred's soul was not in that coffin. It was already gone, and it was just the shell that was being buried. That knowledge helped. Nobody cried.

The funeral ended and the sky began to darken. Lingering old friends of the Weasleys began to depart and as night drew nearer, Hermione's arm began to sting. She tried to ignore it, but it would not let her be. She'd ignored it long enough. It wanted to be heard...

Hermione was standing idly alone in the kitchen when she almost gave in to it. She toyed with the hem of her sleeve and peeled it backwards. Only the raw pink flesh of what she knew was a horrific sight was visible when something outside caught her eye. She peered out the window, grateful for the distraction. There was a figure standing out in the field. It was not Harry anymore, but Ron. He faced away from her. Her mind raced unthinkingly back to what she remembered of Shell Cottage, and how he'd managed to bring her out of her incessant misery. With that in mind, she forgot her arm and rushed outside.

A million possible things to say to him raced through her mind as she approached him: "_Are you alright?"_ That was a stupid question. _"It's nice out here,"_ Who cares? _"What are you doing out here?" _Standing. _"I love you."_ Whoa... _Oh summon the Daily Prophet, what a revelation! Hermione loves Ron... fancy that..._

She'd been standing next to him in silence for a whole minute before she realised she'd said nothing. There was no way she could say anything now, she'd just look ridiculous. But did she really care? This was Ron she was with. They were... friends? No. Boyfriend and Girlfriend? ...not quite. Lovers? God, no.

"Hi," Ron said finally. Hermione's heart leapt. She fought the urge not to cry with happiness. She'd really missed his voice...

"Hello," she said back.

"Nice dress."

"Thank you."

"You look... you look really nice. You know... pretty."

It was an entirely inappropriate time to be grinning and blushing, but Hermione did so none-the-less. "Thank you, Ron."

"You know what today reminded me of?" Ron asked abruptly. The mood of the conversation sunk.

Hermione shook her head. Ron took a deep breath.

"There was this one time a few summers ago when Harry was staying over. I woke up and came downstairs and he was standing in the kitchen. His hair had sort of flopped over his scar and he wasn't wearing his glasses and... I tackled him."

Hermione's head snapped round to face him. He was smiling nostalgically.

"I didn't recognise him. I thought he was an intruder," he explained. His smile faded. "I don't really recognise George without Fred. He's not really George anymore. I fucking hate it."

Hermione stayed silent for a long time. She knew he was right. Somehow, she got the impression that Ron was waiting for her to respond. She'd never been good with consolation, no matter who she was with. Finally, she decided on saying the most irrelevant yet absolutely appropriate thing that she could think of:

"Don't swear, Ronald."

There.

While she let that sink in, she tried to think of ways to back-hand any accusations of being cold or heartless_. Can you not see that I'm grieving?_ You've been in your room for most of the time. _I can say whatever I like._ Me too. Don't swear. _Why aren't you comforting me?_ It wouldn't help.

In that moment, the wind changed. Ron laughed. Not in a hysterical masking way, but in a joking, happy way. The sound made Hermione's heart sing. The heavy tension they'd been saturated in lifted, and what was left was the Ron and Hermione that had kissed each other days ago.

"I spoke to Mum earlier," said Ron. "She asked me to thank you for all your help around the house and stuff. She really appreciates it."

Hermione smiled to herself. At least Molly didn't think she was too big for her boots or in the way...

"You know, when I take the mickey out of you and tease you and stuff..." said Ron, this time in a voice Hermione was much more familiar with: awkward. "...I don't really mean it."

He still didn't look at her, but was no longer gazing at the darkening horizon. He was just avoiding her face. "I think you're incredible, actually."

Hermione turned to face him, stunned. Something in her chest was hurting, but in a very good way. Ron cleared his throat, as though preparing for a big speech.

"...Ron?"

That's when he turned to face her. Wow, he was a lot closer than she'd thought...

"Okay, please don't take the piss... and don't laugh..." he said quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans. "erm... will you be my girlfriend?"

He watched her carefully. He'd sounded so shy, so young, so keen... that Hermione unashamedly grinned.

"I said don't laugh!" he exclaimed, going bright red.

"Oh, Ronald, I thought we'd established this!"

"The hell are you on about?"

"You survived the war, you owe me a date. Wasn't that the deal?"

"Yeah, I guess... so... is that a yes?" he asked. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. His face was on the liminal between shouting for joy and crying with sorrow. None of this made any difference to her answer.

"Yes, Ron. I'll be your girlfriend."

Ron's eyes lit up. A boy-ish grin grew wide on his face as though he were about to burst and she couldn't help but giggle in return. Then, he stopped.

"Does that mean I can kiss you again?"

Hermione's heart stopped. Vivid memories of their first kiss flashed around in her mind, and her lips suddenly burned in their craving to feel his lips again.

"Isn't that... isn't that what b-boyfriends do with their... erm, girlfriends?" she asked, internally cringing at her flustered, spluttery attempt at being flirtatious.

"Cool," he smirked, though he still looked very, very nervous...

It was so quick that Hermione didn't even register it until after it happened. He stared at her lips for a second, deliberating how to approach this monumental task. Then, quick as a flash, he ducked in and barely brushed her lips with his. When she realised he'd done it, he was looking up at the sky.

"That was rubbish!" she exclaimed, not even feeling bad when he looked embarrassed. With a sudden shot of determination pulsing around her body, she reached out to him and snaked her arms around his neck.

"We do it like this," she instructed breathily, nerves coming back to her as he leaned his head down once more. She closed her eyes. Gently, but still much more firmly than he'd done it, she pressed her lips to his.

His lips were just as soft and warm as she remembered them. They were gentle, and moved slowly with hers. He wove his arms around her back and hugged her closer to him. This was perfect: the new feelings of desire mixed with child-like awe at first discoveries in his kiss, combined with the years worth of suppressed love and distant adoration in his embrace. It was somewhere that Hermione didn't even know that she'd always wanted to be.

When the kiss ended, their arms stayed around each other. They stared at each other, both of them trying to read the other person. He looked just as dazed as she was, until finally, he smirked.

"Wicked," he said. Her laugh echoed around them. They hadn't realised how dark it had become.

"We should probably get some sleep," Ron said glumly. Hermione's heart sank as he pulled away. "I don't really fancy Mum coming out here and finding us like this,"

"No, I guess you're right," she agreed, but as Ron began to walk back to the house, her arm flared up again. She really had ignored it for too long now.

"Coming?" he called. She shuddered back into the present and jogged up towards him, threading her mauled arm into his. Had he seen her scar?

Hermione envied the victorious little grin on Ron's face. She would've given anything to be able to have an internal happy dance like he was...

It was so unfair. She'd just kissed Ron. She'd just become his girlfriend. And now, after all that happiness, she knew she was going to sleep with her suppressed memories of pain, torture and Bellatrix Lestrange exploding back into life like firecrackers. She would be totally at her mind's mercy...

_A/N: Well I hope that was alright- please go to my profile where I've posted a link to my TUMBLR for update notifications and pointless other fandom stuff :) if not, I'll see you next Saturday! Please review! _

_Yours faithfully,_

_Nel. _


	7. Born to Die

_Keep making me laugh,_  
_Let's go get high_  
_The road is long, we carry on_  
_Try to have fun in the meantime_

- "Born To Die" by Lana Del Rey

oOo

Ron Weasley had been awake for hours. There was no going to sleep now, not after what had occurred hours earlier. He lay in bed, smiling up at the ceiling as imaged of Hermione's gorgeous face smiling shyly up at him raced through his mind. Her blush had made him want to snog her until next week. She was so adorable. And the _kissing_... Merlin, she was a fantastic kisser...

Yep, Ron was definitely not getting any sleep. To pass the time, he let his favourite Hermione fantasy play out in his mind. Maybe it was a little inappropriate to think of such things after your brother's funeral, but Ron could no longer bring himself to feel guilty: it had been his favourite fantasy he'd first dreamed about it one night in fifth year, and the next day had not been able to look Hermione in the eye. It was a simple fantasy that was easily called upon for those midnight bathroom sessions...

If Ron were living it, he would look different. He would be laying in much the same position as he was now: on his back in bed with his hands locked behind his head. Only, his ginger hair would not be so vibrant and his body would be toned. He would have pecks and abs and a healthy tan. Next to him would be Hermione, her shoulders bare and her hair fanning out around her like a halo. Their relationship would be such that Ron was completely at ease with being naked in front of her. That's how they would both be now: naked. In bed.

Hermione would wake up, yawn, and look up at him through her eyelashes. He would smile charismatically down at her and release one of his hands to stroke her hair. She would smile shyly up at him. Then, her eyes would darken. Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she would plant a wet, sloppy kiss on his chest. She would throw a leg over his waist and drag herself over so that she was on top of him. They would kiss, their tongues probing each other's mouths lazily. His hands would explore her bare back, arse and thighs. She would moan and pull away from him, a cheeky smile playing at her lips. She'd peck him on the lips once more before disappearing below the blankets, slinking her way down his body towards his...

He had to stop. Harry was sleeping just a few feet away, for Merlin's sake... quickly, he tried to banish those images. _Imagine it's Eloise Midge doing that stuff to you_, he thought to himself. _Or Milicent Bullstrode, or Draco Malfoy... BLEGH!_

"Ron?" croaked Harry from the other side of the room. Ron's eyes widened.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to sound as though he'd been asleep. Not fantasising about Harry's best friend...

"Can you hear someone crying?" asked Harry.

Ron froze, listening. There was no crying... but there was something. Someone was shuffling around on the floor below. People were whispering.

"What time is it?" Ron whispered.

"Nearly one o'clock."

"Why are people awake already, then?"

As though to answer his question, someone banged loudly on his bedroom door, making both of them jump. Without waiting for an answer, Ginny burst into the room and pounced on Ron.

"RON! Ron, wake up!" she begged. She shook him violently.

"OW! Ginny, Ginny, I'm awake!"

"Ron, you've got to come, it's Hermione..."

As soon as she'd said the words, Ron was on his feet, cramming his feet into his old slippers. He bounded out of the room, down the mini staircase and swerved into Ginny's room. It was empty.

"Where is she, then?!" he hissed, grabbing her shoulders when she came up behind him. She looked ready to cry.

"She's in the bathroom with Mum," she said quietly. Ron looked at the bathroom door. It was closed.

"What the bloody hell's going on?!" he demanded. Ginny swallowed thickly.

"I woke up because I heard a noise, and it was her... she was crying, and I mean _sobbing_, in her sleep and she was shaking and... oh Merlin, her arm! Promise me you won't say anything when you see it!"

That was all it took for Ron to go charging across the landing towards the bathroom door. He knocked. Inside, he heard his mother whispering soothingly to someone, like she always did when one of her children was sick.

"I'm going to explain to Harry what's happened," whispered Ginny, tiptoeing up the mini staircase towards Ron's room.

"No funny business," he shot back for good measure. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of the bath, tears pouring down her face. She stared down at Mrs Weasley, who was crouched on the floor in front of her. She was holding a wet flannel onto Hermione's arm. It was soaked red. What the bloody hell...?

"There there, dear... it'll be alright..." Mrs Weasley soothed. She reached up and stroked a damp piece of hair off of Hermione's clammy forehead.

"I think I need to get a new flannel. This'll only take a second," and with that, Mrs Weasley removed the cloth from Hermione's arm.

WHAT THE FUCK? Gouged into Hermione's arm was a deeply-engraved word: MUDBLOOD. He'd known it was there. But this time, each letter glistened with the fresh blood that seeped from them. The word was surrounded by raised, raw pink flesh. Why was it bleeding again?! What the fuck had she done to make it bleed again?!

"Hermione..."

She looked up. Immediately she snatched her arm away from its position and held it behind her back. She bit her lip as more tears flowed.

"I didn't want you to see..." she squeaked, clamping her eyes shut and looking down. Ron could only stand there, acknowledging each of his emotions as they whirled round on a loop in his head: Confusion. Shock. Heart-break. Pity. Fury.

"Hermione, I think it's time you went back to bed now," said Mrs Weasley purposefully, returning from the other side of the bathroom with a clean, damp flannel.

"No, please-" began Hermione, but Mrs Weasley silenced her. She lay the flannel onto her bleeding arm.

"Now don't fret, dear. Ron will be there in a moment."

Hermione waited for a hopeful second, in case Mrs Weasley's resolve softened. It did not. Hermione sniffed and stood up. She kept her eyes on the floor as she passed Ron, and cringed away from him when he reached for her. Blimey, he really shouldn't have stood there like a numpty.

"Come with me, Ron, please," instructed his mother in a firm voice. As Hermione disappeared back into Ginny's room, they followed her. Molly stopped Ron just outside the door and closed it. He stared at her. How dare she stop him going to her...

"Ronald, please explain something to me..." she folded her arms. "At what point did you think it was acceptable to sit back and watch me allow Hermione to help with the laundry, the dishes, the cooking, all of it... after she'd been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange?"

As soon as his mother said _her _name, Ron pictured her standing above Hermione, a look of mania in her eyes as she carved that vile word into Hermione's arm. It made him sick. It made him _really_ angry.

"I... didn't think Hermione would want me to tell you that stuff."

"That poor girl has been working like a house elf all week! Why didn't you say anything?!"

"Because you _made _her do it!"

"I did not! She volunteered!"

"Out of guilt!"

"And _you_ didn't say a ruddy thing to her about what happened!"

"BECAUSE I WAS MISERABLE!" he shouted. His mother stared at him, aghast. "Because we were all miserable..." he said, quieter now. "Of course I wanted to bloody talk to her, but you don't know her like me and Harry do, Mum. She's all _get up and go_. She... she doesn't like to be reminded of stuff... she gets upset."

Molly clenched her jaw shut, weighing up what her son had said. Hermione's nature sounded so similar to the woman who'd busied herself with housework while her son and his friends were risking their lives in a horcrux hunt.

"Be that as it may..." she began again. "I want you to talk to her about it sooner rather than later." Ron rolled his eyes. "She's got to talk to _someone _about it, and that person should be you."

Now it was Ron's turn to have the words spoken to him sink in slowly. His Mum knew that he was something to Hermione that Harry was not. Did that mean she knew about their conversation earlier?_  
_

Ron looked at her for signs of understanding. Instead, he saw retrospect. Molly was off in a daydream now, looking twistedly hateful. Memories of Malfoy Manor came flooding back to him: Bellatrix's sick cackling and the glinting of her little knife that Ron had not acknowledged until Hermione's screams began...

"I'm glad you killed her, Mum," he seethed. "But I would've liked the opportunity myself."

His mum smiled sadly at him, forgetting her own anger.

"Ron, I want you to sleep with Hermione tonight."

"WHAT?!"

"Stay with her, please, just until she falls asleep."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. He thought his Mum had gone loopy...

"But I swear to Merlin, Ronald, if you so much as_ think _about trying anything with her, I will murder you. Understood?"

Ron nodded vigorously as she tiptoed back to her own room. Without hesitation, Ron pushed the door to Ginny's room open.

Hermione was sat on her bed, no longer crying, but with an expression just as heart-breaking. Ron inhaled deeply.

"Hermione, I'm really sorry for the way I reacted, I-"

She let out a shrill little laugh. "What's this? Ron Weasley apologizing? Surely not..." she chuckled darkly to herself. Then, her smile faded. For a panicked second, Ron recalled the volume at which he'd spoken outside. Had he hurt her _again_?

"There's no need to say sorry," she frowned down at her arm, where she had it covered with the flannel. "I don't blame you. I'd have probably reacted the same way if it was you."

_If it was me¸_ thought Ron to himself, _I would want Hermione to hold me and tell me that it's all going to be alright. _

"'Mione," Ron said as softly as he could. It seemed to work: she looked up at him in surprise. While he still had the bravery to do so, he quickly sat down on her bed and leant back on her pillows. She bit her lip. He held an arm out.

"Come here," he whispered.

Hermione's eyes flickered from Ron to the door, then back to Ron. Something about the way Ron was sitting made Hermione tear up again. She scrambled towards him and collapsed, throwing an arm around his waist.

"Thanks," she squeaked, before her shoulders shook once. She sniffed. "I didn't mean to make it bleed again. I just woke up and it was there and I'd scratched it and-"

"It's alright, 'Mione," he said quietly, remembering what he would've wanted to hear had it been him. Now, despite his crying girlfriend beside him, he felt a little awkward. They were in the exact position he'd dreamed of them being in earlier, but with clothes on. Now, he did feel guilty. He wiped a tear from Hermione's cheek. Her face was sticky.

"Ugh, sorry," she mumbled, wiping her own face with her other sleeve. "I must look like a mountain troll right now."

"Rubbish," Ron said quickly, kissing her head. His lips froze as they came in contact with her hair. Was this a bit forward? It had felt like the natural thing to do...

"Er... are you OK?" he asked stupidly.

"Yes," she replied. He exhaled. "I'm just embarrassed."

He peered down at her. She'd pulled her sleeve right over her arm and was grasping the hem of it in a fist. He sighed. She'd suffered enough already. Were there any spells to take people's pain away from them?

"Hey, Hermione..." he said, attempting to distract her.

"Mmm?"

"I'm your boyfriend." He grinned. He slowly reached down to her arm.

He felt her smile into his shoulder. "Yes, you're my boyfriend."

He gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"And you're my girlfriend."

She chuckled. "Yes." She nuzzled closer into his neck. His skin tingled.

Ever so slowly, he pushed her sleeve up her arm, pulling the top of it a bit so that it wouldn't scrape her cuts. She snatched her arm away suddenly.

"Nice try, Weasley," she said. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Give me your arm," he said.

"No."

"Show me, or I'll tickle you until you pee."

She bolted upright and glared at him. He almost chuckled at her child-like anger. Clearly deliberating the consequences of shrieking the house down _and _wetting herself in front of him, Hermione slowly handed her arm back to Ron as she sank slowly back down into his side. He lay her arm on his chest and lightly blew cold air onto it.

"That feels nice," Hermione mumbled.

"I am nice," he replied, smirking. "And you're my girlfriend and I'm your boyfriend and we're going to go on dates."

"Dates? Who said anything about more than one?" she spoke drowsily, but her humour was not lost.

"I did," said Ron. "Our first date's going to be great..."

As he spoke, he felt Hermione snuggle even further into his side. He blew cool air onto her arm once more, calming her further.

"... It'll be a long date. Like, the whole day."

"Mmm... sounds nice."

"I dunno where we're going to go but wherever it is, I'll buy you something and you'll be so impressed by how much I can be like a gentleman that we'll spend the rest of the date snogging."

"Charming, Ronald..." she deadpanned, but he still felt her grin into his side. He started stroking her arm where the red gashes did not reach.

It was happening again. His mind raced with gentle observations of comfort and compliments that went way beyond the callings of friendship. They would've sounded so natural in the moment, but she was right _there_. Her closeness to those words in his head terrified him. All those times he'd shared with her; every laughter-filled evening of patrolling the corridors as prefects, every time she slumped against his shoulder as the stress of exams got to her, every hushed conversations away from Harry about their fears: he could have said something. It had felt right, and he could not deny that anymore. All the fighting, camping, starving, arguing, death and darkness had banished his fears of admitting his own feelings to himself. Of course he was no longer simply in danger of loving Hermione. He was only in danger of _her _feelings. He could always find out what they were... all it would take was a handful of words... but there was something about the way she was now: quiet, drowsy, tucked in to his side and _so close to him... _it was paralyzing.

He couldn't. He wouldn't. There was no way he'd start on all the heavy stuff now, mere minutes after she'd just tried to rip her own skin off. No, she needed a real, decent relationship surrounded by romantic stuff. Candles? Was a candle-lit dinner the way to go? Was she all traditional when it came to romance? Probably not. She probably wanted him to be more inventive... that is, of course, if she even wanted him to do anything of the sort... of course she did. She wouldn't be wasting her time with him otherwise, would she? Though, she'd never _really_ fancied Krum, had she? ...but that was years ago... but had she changed that much? Bloody Hell, he hoped not. It had taken just just under seven years to suss her out...

Ron was going to have to be brave. Those three annoying little words had teased him for years now. They'd gone on long enough. He'd have to say them eventually, or he'd burst.

oOo

_A/N: Well who doesn't love a bit 'o' Lana, eh?_

_Please review, and please note that the next chapter might be a little late, as real life has caught up with me and I'm going to be busy this weekend. Hopefully it'll be posted by Monday but I cannot be sure. I am not abandoning you. _

_Yours Faithfully, _

_Nel X_

_P.S. Look on my profile for a link to my tumblr. I follow back._


	8. She

_I'll take her laughter and her tears _  
_And make them all my souvenirs _  
_For where she goes I've got to be _  
_The meaning of my life is _

- "She" by Elvis Costello

oOo

"Ron... _Ron..._ RONALD!"

Ron's eyes flew open.

"ARGH!" he threw his arms up to cover his face. The sun was even brighter than yesterday and was blinding him. As he squirmed, he became aware of something weighing the bed down next to his leg. Slowly this time, he opened his eyes to look.

Hermione's knee was resting on the edge of the bed. She had bent over him to shake him awake. He was about to peer up at her face, had he not stupidly lowered his eyes for a split second to see that her dressing gown was a little too loose, and was allowing him a perfect view of her cleavage...

"RON!" she squealed again, bolting upright and hugging her robe tight around her, going pink in the face. It seemed she'd followed his wide-eyed gaze.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said, holding a hand up as he propped himself up to a sitting position with the other. Hermione backed away from the bed, clutching the top of her robe, trying to look annoyed but only really managing to look embarrassed.

She cleared her throat. "I was _going _to tell you that you should sneak up to your room before your Mum realises you were in here all night."

"Er... yeah, alright," Ron flung the covers back and groggily got to his feet.

"Oh, hang on," he said, his mood darkening. "Was Ginny up there all night?"

Hermione didn't say anything. The fact that she avoided his gaze was a clear enough answer.

"Oh Merlin," Ron grimaced. "I bloody told her..."

"Oh, come on, Ron, we slept in the same room last night too! How is that any different?"

"Because-"

"Ron?! Hermione?!" called Molly from downstairs. Ron and Hermione both froze, staring wide-eyed at each other. Despite Ron's facade of fear, he was a little relieved that he'd been interrupted. He was about to say something very foolish. Of course Ginny sleeping in the same room as Harry was different! Ginny hadn't been woken up to the sound of Harry bawling over his butchered arm...

"Yes, Mrs Weasley?" Hermione called back, her voice a little too high-pitched.

"Breakfast's almost ready!" replied Molly, sounding a little shaky. Walls were thin in this house. Maybe she knew...

"Okay, we'll- we'll be down in a minute!"

Hermione marched up to Ron and with her free hand grabbed the collar of the t-shirt he'd slept in. For one mad second, he was sure she was about to snog him. She even kept her hooded eyes on his as she forced him against the wall. But, she let go of him and yanked the bedroom door open. She grabbed his collar again and shoved him through it.

"I'm getting dressed now, Ronald," she said firmly, thought still pink in the face and clutching the opening of her gown. "Or would you like to stay for another eye-full?"

"That was an accident! You were right _there_!"

"Ronald?!" Ron heard his mother's shrill voice waft up the stairs. "You'd better not be bothering that poor girl!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "No, Mum!". His attention went back to Hermione, who was still standing there. She was tapping her foot.

"'Mione..." Ron began. When she looked at him expectantly, he became aware that he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say. There was so much he _could _say... so much that he wanted to say, and lots that he needed to say.

"Sorry for falling asleep," he lied, bowing his head in mock repentance. When he looked up at her through his lashes, she was half-smiling at him.

"That's OK," she said.

" And I'm sorry for staring at your tits."

Her smile dissolved as she blushed.

"That's... um, that's OK too. I mean, I... you're forgiven."

They stood there in the doorway, awkwardly avoiding each other's gazes. Ron knew perfectly well what was keeping him there, but he was sure he looked like a massive prat.

"I'll go and get changed then."

"I'll see you downstairs."

"Cool, bye."

Ron scurried up the stairs as she slowly shut the door. His room was empty and cold. When he'd shut his own bedroom door, he thudded his forehead against it.

"Fuck..." he muttered before twisting round and sinking to the floor.

He was probably exaggerating, but his relationship with Hermione was the single most confusing relationship in existence. He didn't know who knew about them, he didn't know who she wanted to tell, he didn't know how she felt, he didn't _really _know how long they'd been 'together'. Were they still together? Would she want time to recuperate after nearly scratching her arm off? Lots of girls did that: something out of the ordinary would happen and they'd claim they needed space. But blimey, he knew bloody well that Hermione wasn't like other girls. He had to stop thinking about her like that.

"Grow a pair..." he sighed as he clambered to his feet. The sooner he got dressed, the sooner he'd see her again. That was quite a paradox in itself: telling yourself to man up, because then you'll get more time with your girlfriend...

When he came downstairs, the atmosphere was much more agreeable than it had been in a long time. He spotted Hermione first, who dishing sausages up onto everyone's plates. His Mum was frying something else on the stove, her free hand waving wildly around her as the smoke hit her face. Harry was ravenous and practically inhaling a piece of toast, as was Ginny. Ron even allowed himself a little chuckle at the sight of Percy, whose hair was not immaculately greased and curled today. It was wild and matted at the back and it was to Ron's immense relief that George was hiding a smirk behind a glass of orange juice.

Hermione sat down to eat at last. Ron went to sit in the seat beside her a little too hastily, eliciting a smirk from Ginny from across the table. He looked down at his plate. Two slices of toast, one fried egg, three sausages. As he slowly speared a sausage onto his fork, he eyed up everyone else's plates. Everyone else had two sausages. He cast a sideways glance at Hermione who looked wistful as she ripped a chunk of toast apart.

When he'd caught her eye, he raised his eyebrows. _I always thought favouritism wasn't your thing._

She smirked and gave a slight shrug. _Things have changed._

He chuckled slightly and smiled. _Thank 'Mione._

She returned his smile. _You're welcome. _Merlin, that smile was pretty.

"Bacon, anyone?" Molly asked, suddenly standing there with a frying pan and tongs. Ron quickly tore his eyes away from Hermione and self-consciously shuffled his chair away from her. He'd been sitting a lot closer to her than anyone else.

"Yeah, thanks Mum," he said weakly. Once she'd dished out bacon to everybody, she sat down beside Ron. He could feel her watching him and the girl beside him. Being seated directly in between Hermione and his Mum felt a lot like his first game of Quidditch.

"Ronnie, dear?" said Molly as she sat down. "I need you to fold up the camp beds in Bill's old room now that he and Fleur have gone home."

"Ugh, fine..." grumbled Ron, too calm to kick up a fuss. There was something about the post-Voldemort air that made him feel almost drunk with tranquillity.

Molly cleared her throat. "And I'll need someone to help me with lunch."

Ron saw his mother cast a hopeful eye at Hermione.

"I'll do that, Mum!" said Percy snootily. Molly's shoulders shrugged.

"Thank you, dear..." she said with a sigh. Ron sat up, feeling a little victorious.

Molly perked up. "Oh, I wonder if anyone would be so kind as to volunteer to prune the rose bush..."

Hermione swallowed her food. "I'll do that for you, Mrs Weasley."

Molly smiled widely. "Oh, would you? Thank you, my dear!"

Ron felt himself pout. Across the table, he saw Ginny going pink from containing her laughter. Ron picked up his last remaining piece of toast and flung it at his sister's face, effectively ending the calm atmosphere in the kitchen.

oOo

As boring as chores were, Ron was perfectly happy to help his mother out that morning. Stuff had to get done somehow, and Molly Weasley already had her hands full. There were eight hungry mouths to feed throughout the day and that was her priority.

Ron was strong enough to flip the sofa bed back into position with one arm and not much effort. It thudded to the floor as though it were depressed. Much like every other piece of furniture in the Burrow, it had endured years of boys' fights and restless guests. Ron chose to ignore the ominous snap sound that the springs made when the bed was folded back up. No-one but his mother would burst a blood vessel at the sight of a possibly-broken sofa bed. Ron bunched the sheets and pillow cases up and stuffed them into the linen cupboard in the hallway. He threw himself against the cupboard door to close it, and bounded down the stairs intent on sneaking out the back door before his mother caught him.

"Ah, Ronnie! Wouldn't give the bathroom a once-over, would you?"

"Mum..." Ron began to groan, but the look on his mother's face told him that she was not a woman to cross today. He huffed and retreated back up the stairs.

He could practically smell the sunshine outside, which torturously teased him by seeping through the cracks in the house's shingles. The hallway and staircases were dark and windowless. The bathroom was hardly any better. The high window reminded him of prison. Azkaban. Dementors. Malfoy Manor. The bathroom was worn and familiar. He'd been nearly drowned in here by the twins, he'd frowned at his pale, gangly reflection in here and he'd discovered himself in ways that he didn't care to think of. At least, not while his family were in the house.

He flicked his wand around the room, scougifying every surface and tap in the room. He kicked damp towels into the crack between the sink and the drawer unit. He blasted a cobweb out of the corner of the ceiling and looked around anxiously for a family of furious, homeless spiders.

Outside, someone was ranting.

Ron jumped up onto the side of the bath and dropped forward, coming to lean on the back wall. He craned his neck and looked out of the high window.

Out there in the garden was Hermione, her head in a rose bush and shouting at it. He chuckled as her hair became more and more entangled in the thorns as she struggled. He jumped down from the side of the bath and quickly concluded that the bathroom was in a better state than it had been all week. He flew down the stairs towards Hermione.

"Ah there you are, Ron!" he heard his mother say.

"Bathroom's done," he said as he reached for the back door handle.

"Oh jolly good. Now, go and tidy your room."

Ron groaned. "Mum, this is slave labour!"

"Don't exaggerate, Ronald, now go and sort that room out. It looks like a troll's been at it!"

When Ron began to argue, Harry turned the corner and walked calmly into the kitchen. "I'll do that, Mrs Weasley," he said. Ron's face lit up.

"Oh there's no need, Harry, it's Ron's room,"

"I don't mind. It's mostly my mess anyway. Ron can swap jobs with me."

"Oh... kay..." said Ron, judging by Harry's smug grin that his chore was far worse than tidying a bedroom.

"What was your job, then?"

"De-gnoming."

That was all it took for Ron to spew up a see-you-later and dive for the door. It was bloody embarrassing, really, for his mother and best friend to snigger at how keen he was. But at least Ron was able to use "we just won a war" as an excuse for almost everything uncharacteristic these days. That included his drive to be a good boyfriend.

Being outside in the garden with Hermione felt just as claustrophobic and intimate as it would've done had they been in his bedroom. She hadn't noticed him yet. She was still strategically untangling her hair from every thorn it had been caught on. Her arse was in the air facing Ron. The longer he stared, the more she'd scold him.

"Hermione?" he called out to her. She froze, her little bum stopped mid-writhe.

"Uh... hi."

"Need help?"

"Yes please."

He smirked and sat down beside her. He wasn't quite sure what she'd been doing to get her hair this matted into a rose bush. It was as though someone had tied her hair in bows around the branches.

"I know what you're thinking," said Hermione, failing to conceal utter humiliation behind a facade of indifference. "You're thinking that I'm a ridiculous klutz. Well, you're wrong."

"I am?" he chuckled. She'd said those two words to him so often over the years, he often thought that it was an off-day when she didn't say them.

"Yes. There's a dead rose head at the back and I just couldn't reach it."

"What were you going to do, bite it off?"

She lifted a leg up and kicked him in the stomach, like a donkey would with a trembling young cowboy. He grabbed her leg before she put it down.

"Don't, I'll fall!" she squealed.

"Are your feet ticklish?" he asked, grinning at her socked feet. She'd abandoned her shoes a few yards away.

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare!" she growled into the rose bush. He could not let this golden opportunity pass him up. As soon as his nails raked the soles of her feet, she gave an ear-piercing shriek and miraculously jutted back out of the bush. As soon as she was free, she lunged for him.

"ARGH!"

He toppled backwards. They thrashed around on the grass, each trying to tickle the other. Hermione knew from Harry's dormitory tales that Ron was ticklish in the ribs. Hermione's most ticklish spots were an unexplored, almost mythical place. Nobody had managed to get past her violent defensive slapping. As it was, they were both going red with laughter as they batted each others' hands away, at the same time reaching for the other one's ribs.

She was so pretty. In between squeals, she was laughing and smiling so freely that he was sure he'd never seen her so happy. Or maybe he had, but not in a long time. It delighted him to know that he was the one making her happy right now.

When their arms began to ache, their battle ceased and their laughs quietened. Hermione was half on top of him, panting, smiling down at him, tendrils of her hair tickling his face. She was blocking the sun. It shone around her. She was his, and he could remind her of that right here, right now.

"My head hurts," she giggled, sitting up.

"Did I actually get you?" he asked, leaning on his elbows.

"No, no. The roses did though."

To see what she was looking at as she peered into the rose bush, he leaned forward so that his head was inches away from hers. Knotted around the more prominent thorns were clumps of Hermione's hair.

He laughed. "It looks like what happens when a sheep falls in barbed wire!"

She grinned. "You always did say that you could knit jumpers from my hair."

His laughter stopped. He swallowed his pride and glanced at the clumps of hair again. They were quite big.

"Ouch... bloody hell, I'm sorry, 'Mione."

"I didn't notice!" she smiled, turning to him. The intimacy and pain of what he'd been with her to endure the night before suddenly flashed across his mind.

"Did I hurt your arm?!" he blurted out.

She seemed a little taken aback by his question. "No, it's fine." She pulled her sleeve up a little of the way. A hint of white gauze bandage peeked out.

"How did you manage to get out here, anyway?" she asked casually.

"Hmm?" The change of conversation and atmosphere was so quick, he'd almost missed it. Clearly, now was not the time.

"Oh! Ah, I swapped jobs with Harry."

"Shouldn't you be de-gnoming, then?"

Ron rolled his eyes and looked around. She chuckled and pointed to the side of the house. "They're over there," she said, then blushed a little. "I'll come with you if you like."

"Uh... sure."

De-gnoming wasn't a hobby of hers. It certainly wasn't fun for him, or anyone else he knew. If she was coming with him, who was he to complain?

They practically marched over to the side of the house, where it was shadowy and a little bit cooler. It was how Ron usually approached gnomes to scare them off. There were none in sight.

"Well, that worked!" said Ron cheerfully. Although, gnomes had a habit of scarpering for a few seconds while humans walked past. They'd no doubt reappear when they were gone. Rather than face a grumpy mother, Ron started peering into the small green shrubs to look for them. When she sensed that Hermione was not moving, he looked back at her. She looked decidedly embarrassed.

"'Mione?"

"Yes?"

"What's up?"

Her face was very pink, but she looked up at him with a peculiar expression of innocence. "Nothing!" she squeaked. She was a bad actress.

Ron looked around him, and remembered what she'd told him.

"Hermione, you said the gnomes were around here!"

"I did, didn't I..."

"Then where the-"

He whirled round, looking for any sign of the annoying creatures. He noticed that she kept glancing up at the house. He followed her gaze. No windows.

Seeing understanding click in his face, she took a step towards him. He could only stand there looking like a dumbfounded numpty. A year ago, he would never have guessed that Hermione Granger, or any girl in fact, would lure him down the side of the house for a kiss. So, when Hermione kept stepping towards him with an expression of determination, bashfulness and anxiety, his stomach did somersaults.

She gulped. "I don't want you to think I'm-"

"Hermione..." he murmured, shushing her. She was close, and nervous. He placed his hands on her hips. As their eyes fluttered closed and their lips met, she ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders, then around the back of his neck. Surely this was a dream: Hermione's lips pressed lightly against his, her arms around him. Only, she was still nervous. She kissed him so lightly and her hands were loose on his neck. In response, he wrapped his forearms around her so that he was hugging her around her waist. He moved his lips against hers with a little more firmness. With that, she hugged him so tightly that she was pulling Ron to her.

He stumbled along with her, their teeth almost clashing as her back bumped against the side of the house. He was pressing her against it as they snogged, and _that_ was pretty bloody cool.

She tore her lips away from him. "Is this okay?" she breathed.

He gawped at her. Same old Hermione, same old look of exhilaration when she accomplished something new. She studied him with apprehension as well. Her hair was a mess, her chest was rising and falling quickly with her heavy breathing and her lips were red and swollen and she was lovely.

"You're... a bloody... _fantastic_ kisser..." he panted. He had a moment to see her face light up before he ducked down and pressed his lips to hers again.

She was kissing him with such rigor and passion that he was sure she was holding out on something. So, tentatively, he tested the waters with something new. He'd done it before with Lavender, but rather than shove his tongue down Hermione's throat, he parted his lips and carefully slid his tongue along her bottom lip. He felt her body tense. He needn't have worried. Her tongue met his, and within seconds they were properly snogging. _Snogging Hermione._ He moaned in the back of his throat.

"_Ahem..._"

They jumped apart, red in the face. Standing several feet away from them was Kingsley Shacklebolt with a traumatised Harry Potter. Ron felt his ears start to burn.

"Oh hello Harry, Kingsley..." said Hermione weakly. She smoothed her jumper down.

"I hope that you two are... well-adjusted... since the battle?"

"Um... yeah," said Ron in place of Hermione, who looked too mortified to keep up conversation.

Kingsley nodded. Ron shot a concerned glance to Harry who looked as white as a sheet.

"Hermione, I have to speak with you," said Kingsley. "I'm afraid it's urgent."

"What about me?" asked Ron, taking a little step forward. "I'm coming."

Harry's face was almost grey.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I want to stay and here what this is all about."

"I can't allow that, Ron," said Kingsley, shaking his head. "Not unless these two agree to have to in the room and you swear that you'll not tell anybody at the Ministry that I let you."

"Of course Ron can be present!" said Hermione. "Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded slowly.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait... the Ministry? Kingsley, what's going on?"

Kingsley looked solemn. "Let us convene inside."

oOo

_A/N: BOOM got it published on time, didn't I?_ _I can't say the same thing for next week's though.._

_Feel free to leave a review. _

_Nel X_


	9. You Put Your Arms Around Me

_I hope that you see right through my walls_  
_I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling_  
_I'll never let a love get so close_  
_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

- "You put your arms around me" - Christina Perri

oOo oOo oOo

Hermione's heart was hammering in her chest. How could she be so naive? Voldemort was dead and Death Eaters were still out there, lingering, without a leader. Harry had defeated him. _They _had defeated him. The Ministry had been the weak ones. Obviously, being sidelined by school children would be embarrassing.

Hermione sat on the edge of the sofa, grasping Ron's hand. He was clammy and nervous too. How silly of them to have let their guard down after everything they'd been through...

"The three of you are heroes," began Kingsley, who sat on the coffee table opposite them. "Everybody in the wizarding world is grateful for what you have done. Everybody knows that if it hadn't been for you three, most of us would be dead. Or worse."

"But?" asked Harry, who sat on the other side of Ron.

Kingsley leaned closer. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that Molly was listening at the living room door.

"The Ministry are humiliated. Voldemort showed them out to be weak, and then a gang of children finished the job that they failed to complete."

"How's that our problem?" demanded Ron. "We saved the wizarding world, we should be left alone! And why was I not going to hear about any of this?"

Hermione squeezed his hand. He pulled her hand onto his lap.

Kingsley remained patient, but hushed Ron with a raised hand. "You three need to listen carefully because I am here to help you. Nobody else will be as kind."

He glanced briefly at the door, and then leaned even closer to them.

"They're willing to forgive you for breaking into The Ministry. You disturbed the workforce occupying the Ministry when Death Eaters had infiltrated it. That's a good story, and they want people to know that you were against the Death Eaters' regime..." Kingsley cleared his throat. "But... you broke into Gringotts. Harry, you used the Imperious curse. As necessary as it was at the time, that is a serious crime."

Hermione's head was spinning. This wasn't happening. A year on the run, half a lifetime of fighting dark wizards... and Harry was facing Azkaban.

"No..." she whispered out loud. Ron looked at her in concern.

"Hermione, you stole Bellatrix Lestrange's identity. Polyjuice Potion is legal but to use it in _that_ way, when you had _her _wand and stole from _her _vault... it doesn't look good."

"But..." Hermione whimpered. "We only did it because-"

"We know," said Kingsley firmly. "At least, I know. But for the rest of the Ministry, the events of the past year haven't entirely woven together yet. They don't know everything. They're scared."

The words hung around them like a thick cloud of smoke. For Hermione, reality hit home that they'd spent too much time away from the wizarding world. They'd been so wrapped up in _their_ quest, _their_ duty, that they'd ignored the social practicalities. When had there ever been a war in history that was followed by rainbows and sunshine? The war was won. Now they had to clear up the rubble.

"They'll call you in and ask you some questions," said Kingsley, standing up. "Then the newspapers will print their articles about how you're both back under the thumb of the Ministry and

"Hang on a bloody minute!" Ron dropped Hermione's hand and stood up. "What about me? I broke into Gringotts too!"

Hermione grabbed his hand. "Ron, what are you doing?!" she hissed.

Kingsley turned back to them. "What are you saying, Ron?"

"I'm saying that you haven't explained why I'm not in trouble here!"

Kingsley shot him a pitying look. Hermione braced herself.

"Ron, don't take this the wrong way. Harry and Hermione could have broken into Gringotts without you. In the Ministry's eyes, you were irrelevant."

... that was a punch in the chest.

Silence fell, and he left. Ron simply stood, watching the door that had closed behind their visitor. Hermione watched him for signs of life. In the corner of her eye, she saw Harry cast an anxious look in her direction.

"Ron?" probed Harry. As soon as he spoke, Ron moved. He swerved round the coffee table and out the door. They heard him running up the stairs.

"I'll go," said Hermione as they both stood up. She hurried after Ron, praying that Harry didn't have a fit of loyalty and insist on coming too.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Hermione heard Molly asking nobody in particular as the trio poured out of the lounge. Hermione didn't answer her and instead continued up the creaking stairs.

"Ron?" she called quietly when she reached his door.

"Yeah..." he grunted. She pushed his door open.

He was there on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, head in hands.

"Ron," she said again, walking quickly towards him. He did not look up. She fell to her knees in front of him and craned her head under his bowed head. "Ron, look at me,"

He dropped his hands, but didn't meet her eyes. She sighed, and internally curses Kingsley for being so insensitive... she couldn't let Ron think badly of himself. She would not let him believe that he was anything less than fiercely appreciated.

"Kingsley doesn't know what he's talking about," she said softly. "He wasn't there. I was."

He finally looked up. His red, wet eyes startled Hermione. She'd never seen him so bare.

"He was right though, wasn't he? Last year all I ever did was slow you down or piss you off."

"He wasn't talking about last year, Ron, he was talking about Gringotts. And he was wrong."

"Even the Ministry knows how bloody useless I am..."

Hermione unthinkingly reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. "I don't think you're useless."

"Don't..." he croaked, shaking his head.

"...don't do what?"

"I dunno, just _don't_..."

"don't do what?!"

"_That!_" he wiped his face with his hand. "You're gunna try and make me feel better. I don't want to feel better."

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she stood up. "So you _want _sit here and be miserable? You _want_ to mope around in your room all afternoon?"

He looked up at her helplessly. Hermione ignored his resemblance to a starving beggar.

"Please just let me feel guilty for a bit."

Fresh tears welled in his eyes. He quickly bowed his head again. "I was a complete arse to you and Harry, then I walked out, then I did bugger all for weeks, now you and Harry are facing an inquiry. Where's the justice in that?"

Surely, _surely_, he was out of his mind. Hermione could understand the guilt from walking out. But the sick, manipulative influence of the horcrux and his weeks selfless courage when he returned... they reminded her just how deeply in love with him she was.

She swallowed thickly and sat down on the bed beside him.

"What about Malfoy Manor?" she asked. As his shoulders began to shake, she rubbed his back. "You saved my life. You risked everything... you were so _brave..._"

"I wasn't brave," he whimpered, his voice thick with tears and his nose red. "I was desperate."

He dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and cried, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist. She held him, rocked him and blinked back the tears forming in her own eyes.

"You looked after me at Shell Cottage, remember?" she spoke softly, then kissed his head. "You held my hand. You stayed with me."

"Course I bloody did," he mumbled into her shoulder. He lifted his head and looked at her, examining her whole face before meeting her gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, then decided against it.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ugh, just say it, Ron!"

"Say what?"

"Whatever you want to."

He looked confused. She sighed. "What were you about to say just then?"

"Nothing!"

"Say it."

"No."

"_Say. It."_

"No."

"Fine!"

Hermione stood up. Immediately, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. She plopped back down on the bed, startled. When she turned to glare at him, his face was very sincere.

"You mean a lot to me, 'Mione. I really care about you."

His words washed away any negative thoughts she'd previously had. In fact, she fought to suppress a delighted squeal as her entire body started tingling. Rather than face the embarrassment of having to explain a girlish wriggle of happiness, she looked down at his lips, ready for what she hoped to be a long, glorious kiss. As soon as her gaze dropped down to his mouth, Ron propelled himself forward and pressed his lips firmly to hers.

She would never get used to this. Ever. The tenderness of his kisses that made her heart soar and the intimacy that made her forget about the war, the loss, her parents, her scars... of course, this was an awkward kiss at first. His hands on the bed, her hands in her lap. Only their lips made contact. Then, when she parted her lips ever so slightly, she felt him shift. His arms wrapped around her waist, forcing her into his chest. Her arms went around his neck and the sweet kissing continued. This moment, in which she was encased in Ron's warmth, might've been perfect had she not been fraught with insecurities about her kissing technique. However, as he applied a tiny bit more pressure to deepen the kiss, she brushed those thoughts aside. All that she was conscious of now was the fact that they were kissing on his bed. He seemed the acknowledge this too. She felt his lips slow their movements on hers as he realised. If they didn't go somewhere with this kiss, things would get very awkward indeed, and Hermione knew that if she did not act, he would be far too gallant to try anything. She broke away from his lips.

"Was that OK?" he breathed, blushing pink. She nodded. How could he not know? He'd gotten plenty of practice with Lavender...

"Was _I _OK?" she asked, blushing just as red as him. He stared at her for a long moment, raised his eyebrows and blinked.

"I think 'OK' is a bit of an understatement."

"Oh shut up," she smirked, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious!" he chuckled. "You're the best kisser ever."

Hermione should've been flattered, but the exciting mood sunk a little at the suggestion of Ron's past kissing partners. Not only was Hermione still burning with jealousy that his first kiss had not been her, and had in fact been with a girl who'd gained enough kissing experienced to be crowned World Snogging Champion, but there was also the withering stab of guilt that between his relationship with Lavender and this current snog in his room, Lavender had been attacked by a werewolf. And they hadn't bothered to find out whether she was okay.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked, bringing her mind back into focus. She nodded, looking down at her lap.

"I'm not lying, Hermione. You're a really great kisser."

She smiled half-heartedly at him. "Thank you, Ronald. You're quite the expert yourself."

She hadn't meant it to sound accusatory. Heck, she was sure she'd sounded complimentary. Clearly, Ron had picked up on the subtext.

"Is that what's up, then? You're all glum about my... kissing expertise?"

Hermione shrugged and looked away.

Ron sighed quietly. "Yeah, I kissed Lavender. But you kissed Krum though, right? And McLaggen. They're all in the past, Hermione. We're not with them anymore. This is _our _relationship now."

Even though Hermione's stomach flipped at that last part, she felt a little bit irritated.

"I didn't kiss either of them actually," she told him firmly. His face was so close to hers, she could read every emotion on his face at twice the normal precision. Surprise, guilt, relief. It was that quick. Since Voldemort's defeat, he'd clearly developed an attraction to living in the present.

"Thanks for coming to find me," he said suddenly. "I... I feel better. _You_ make me feel better." He met her gaze again, making Hermione feel very warm. He gulped. "Can I kiss you again?"

Hermione smiled and went to lean in, but the probing concept of kissing in his bedroom got to her again. She swallowed her nerves and grabbed his wand from where he'd dropped it on the bed earlier. She aimed it at the door.

"Colloportus,"

She dropped the wand on the rug under their feet and scooted away from him, twisted her body round and watching his eyes widen and breath quicken as she lowered her torso down to a lying position on his bed, with just enough room for him to join her.

"Of course you can," she said softly. He seemed frozen in fright.

Hermione blushed and felt a little bit sick. "Unless you don't want to..." she said, beginning to push herself up onto her elbows.

"No!" Ron exclaimed suddenly, throwing himself down onto the space beside her and flinging an arm over her waist. The action stunned her. When his eagerness sunk in, she burst out laughing.

"Hey, I didn't laugh at you when you lied about gnomes to snog me behind my house!"

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked through her laughter. "I just..."

There wasn't really much point to continuing. They were both lying beside each other with one intention. At the same time, they decided to fulfil that intention.

Hermione's skin tingled as he pressed his lips gently to hers once again. They quickly threw nerves and caution to the wind and deepened the kiss, parting their lips and meeting each other's tongues. The feel of his wet tongue sent a flood of warmth into the pit of Hermione's stomach. For so many years, she'd dreamed of doing this to him in this exact bed. It was far too early to think about progressing any further than snogging at the moment, but Hermione was perfectly happy with this. His strong arm over her waist, hugging her close, the light pressure of his body pushing her gently into the mattress, his soft lips moving gently yet passionately over hers... he made her feel wonderful.

"This okay?" he asked, his lips hovering over hers.

She kept her eyes closed, savouring the feeling of his breath and warmth and softness all over her. "This is perfect."

She felt him smile against her mouth before he resumed kissing her. She didn't think she could be any happier than in this moment. She was sure she'd burst. She was snogging Ronald Weasley in his bed. It only made her mind crackle with excitement at the prospect of their relationship going further. But before that happened, there were things she needed to know, questions she needed to ask him and words she needed to hear.

oOo

_A/N- God love 'em. _

_Feel free to review. Also, on my profile page, there's a link to my Tumblr._

_Nel X_

_P.S. I read every single review and thank you to everyone who's been really nice and supportive so far. Your reviews make me do a fangirl dance, they really do. It's embarrassing. A quick thanks to Heronlove, Cocorocks and for their regular niceness in reviews. Also to Diva Gonzo for being so intelligent and fun to converse with. _


	10. Welcome Home

_Sheets are swaying from an old clothesline_

_Like a row of captured ghosts over old dead grass_

_Was never much but we made the most_

_Welcome home_

- "Welcome Home" - Radical Face.

oOo

Mortifying... completely mortifying... and scary... and exciting... and _brilliant,_ and really bloody arousing...

He practically shook with emotion as he marched down the rickety staircase that acted as the spine of the Burrow. The sound of the shower spray grew quieter as he went. With each step, he was further away from a naked Hermione.

He stealthily crept through the doorway of the kitchen. At the sink was Ginny doing the washing up, with a smug-looking Harry standing behind her with his hands on her hips. They were speaking quietly and she was giggling. As much as Ron wanted to run over there and wrestle Harry to the ground, he pursed his lips and let his face burn red. It would be hypocritical of him to scold his best friend for running his hands all over his sister when he'd just been snogging Hermione's face off for bloody ages.

He'd come down here for a reason, though. As Harry moved away from her and grabbed a tea towel, Ron seethed at the back of his sister's head. He suddenly spotted a plate on the kitchen table piled high with homemade sausage rolls. He reached over and grabbed one, rolled it in his hand and lobbed it in her direction.

It splatted against the back of her head before the bulk of it fell to the floor.

"EURGH! Ron, what the hell are you doing?!" groaned Ginny, combing flakes of pastry out of her red hair, glaring at him. Beside her, Harry looked bemused.

Ron pointed accusingly at her. "You lying fuck!"

"...excuse me?"

"You told me that Hermione snogged Victor Krum!"

Ginny looked for a moment as though her brother had spoken in pig Latin. Then, when a grin slowly spread across her face, he lunged to grab another sausage roll.

"Don't you dare!" she squealed, throwing her hands up to cover her face. He threw the sausage roll and deliberately hit the window behind her.

"How come you made all that up, huh? Why d'you let me think that?!"

"I was angry at you!"

"So you made me go and make a complete prat of myself?"

"What the hell are you on about?!"

Ron folded his arms and scowled at her. "I thought she'd kissed Krum."

"Yeah... so?"

"_So..._" Ron was about to explain, but Harry's awkward stance in the corner of the kitchen put him off. "Harry, piss off."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Clearly not in the mood to argue, Harry rolled his eyes and shrugged before disappearing upstairs. Ron turned his attention back to Ginny, who was also standing with her arms folded at the other end of the kitchen table.

"Well?" she demanded. "How did _I _make you look like a prat?"

Ron's ears went bright pink. He shifted uncomfortably. He loved Ginny, but she had the intelligence and cunning to use delicate information as lethal weapons if she wanted to. She hadn't thus far, but he hadn't paid that much attention to her in the past to know if she ever would. He'd have to honour Gryffindor in a way that he might as well start doing.

"When you let me think that both my best friends and my sister had snogged other people, I felt like a pathetic little virgin," he grumbled. "But... I dunno, when you told me 'bout Hermione, I felt...angry. A bit useless, actually."

Ginny's expression of irritation didn't change. Only her eyes moved her gaze shifted down to the floor.

"I don't think I would've gone out with Lavender if you hadn't said that."

Ginny's eyes blazed with fury as she looked back up at him. "_Are you serious_?! Ron, you cannot blame me for that mess! You were the one who was quite literally stuck to that girl for weeks!"

"Yeah, and I wouldn't have gone near her if _you _hadn't made me feel so shit!"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "Do you realise how horrid you sound?"

"Don't be such a hypocrite, Gin, you went out with Dean Thomas when Harry ignored you for Cho!"

Ron immediately wished he hadn't spoken, or indeed come down here at all. His sister was bold and clever. She walked round the table and came to a halt right under his nose. Ron was alarmed by how serene she looked: like a mannequin.

"That was not the same thing and you know it. Cho was done with Harry long before I started dating Dean. Hermione told me to move on, so I did. I don't know where you're aiming to go with this argument but to me, it sounds as though you're sidling around the fact that you used Lavender to make Hermione jealous. It worked. You broke her heart."

Ron swallowed and looked away from Ginny. He could not get used to the idea that he had even the slightest influence on Hermione's heart, let alone the capability to break it. He'd once promised himself that he'd crush the balls of any man who broke her heart. He hadn't thought of the possibility that it would one day be him.

"You can sit up there snogging all you want, but eventually you're both going to have to leave that room and face the future as a couple, and that's not exactly going to be a barrel of laughs until you sort out the rubbish history that you two have."

Ron was too engulfed by the horror at his own actions to present any sort of retaliation to his sister. The reality was that he was a prick, and she knew it. Everybody knew it.

"Sort it out," she said firmly.

Ron could only nod. He turned and glumly made his way back into the hallway and up the stairs. Ginny had a point. He had to sort out their relationship. But he knew Hermione better than she did. She was smart. She knew that their feelings for each other were all that mattered now. It wasn't as though he'd never given his disaster with Lavender some serious thought where Hermione was concerned. He'd spend a lifetime apologising to her if he could. For once, she was being too bloody forgiving. Maybe if she berated him for hurting her, he'd start to actually believe that Hermione liked him. This new-found relationship was too dreamlike. He'd have to make the first move. He had to test the waters. He was just as eager as she was to see where this could go. He loved her, he knew that much. She needed to know that. They needed that date that he'd promised her.

He knocked on Ginny's bedroom door. He was suddenly acutely aware that the last time he'd spoken to Hermione had been one of the most embarrassing and awkward moments of his life. Perhaps _the _most embarrassing moment. They'd been snogging. On his bed. She'd been pressed up against him. However many times she denied it afterwards, she _had _gently bumped her hips against his. It had had a profound effect on him. They were both left bright red in the face, with a pillow on his lap and her muttering something about a shower before scurrying out the door.

"Hermione?" he called quietly, testing the waters. He hoped Ginny wasn't listening downstairs. She'd hex his balls off if she knew what he was about to say.

"Come in," Hermione called calmly. He opened the door and found her sitting there on her bed in her PJ's and dressing gown, rubbing a towel into her damp hair.

"You alright?" he asked dumbly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She avoided his gaze. "Yes, I'm fine... how're you?"

"M'fine. Um... yeah."

There was a lot of fidgeting as the thick silence irritated their skin. Darkness was falling. Soon, Dad would be home from the Ministry and Mum would be back from wherever it was she'd disappeared to. He didn't have a lot of time. You'd have thought he'd be good with time-restraints by now.

Hermione dropped the towel she was using to dry her hair and looked exasperated.

"Ron, we need to talk."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "We do?"

"Yes. And you know why."

"I do?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ronald. We need to talk about our past."

Ron, who was completely caught off-guard, started theatrically looking around the room.

"Ronald, what on earth are you doing?" Hermione sighed as he looked under the bed.

He sat up and shrugged. "Just looking for where you hid the rest of the Let's-Back-Ron-Up-Into-A-Corner Party."

"I'm sorry?"

"Why is everyone so hell-bent on bringing up the past?"

Hermione looked a little embarrassed. "I think it's important."

"_Why_?"

"Because it's awkward!"

Ron stared at her, stunned. "It... it is?" he felt like a girl who'd been told her arse looked big in a pair of jeans. It was humiliating that she'd seen flaws in their relationship, and he would readily marry her...

"Well, no, not quite... but there are certain things I need to know."

"Like what?" he asked numbly, not too sure how to process this: his first relationship problem that actually mattered. Wow, he really was a heartless bastard.

Hermione inhaled deeply. "Your... reaction to certain activities earlier made me a little... anxious. I want to know how far you got with Lavender."

Had Ron been drinking, he'd have choked. His eyes practically bulged out of his skull. "Why do you want to know that?"

Hermione looked hurt. "Don't you want to know how far I got with McLaggen and Krum?"

"Don't need to. You didn't kiss them."

Hermione blushed and looked away. "No. I didn't."

"Then what's the problem?"

"For heaven's sake, Ron, _did you have sex with her_?" she hissed.

"No!" he spluttered, not believing that he'd heard Hermione Jean Granger utter that word.

Hermione nodded to herself, then braced herself again. "Did you do anything else with her?"

"No, Hermione, we just snogged."

Hermione grimaced. He guessed she'd still resent his past with Lavender a little bit, but this was... this was embarrassment. She looked practically ashamed.

"Hermione, what's up?" he asked her seriously.

She bit her lip. "Are you _sure_ you didn't do anything else?"

Ron felt his neck get hot. If Hermione knew something, which she inevitably did, he'd better own up now.

"I may've felt her tits a few times."

Hermione seemed to swallow her reaction. She choked it back and simply nodded again. Ron ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before a horrible thought occurred to him.

"You're not angry at me."

"No, I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Because you're telling the truth."

Ron chuckled. "That's how it works?"

"Krum kissed me."

There was still a faint trace of a smile on Ron's face when she said it. It dissolved slowly. He didn't even try to hide his misery from her, try though he did. This was his reality now. It was a disgusting thought, that someone else had been near her mouth. He imagined it was Krum's way of comforting her after Ron had upset her at the Yule Ball. He imagined his hands all over her and he shuddered.

"You're upset," said Hermione.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Don't be," she said softly. "I thought I'd never have a chance with you. For all I knew, it was the first of many disappointing kisses."

Her words, her honesty and her kindness were what it took for a smile to form on his lips. When she smiled shyly at his response, his smile grew. She was beautiful and she was his. Their surrendering of the truths combined with Ginny's words and the Ministry being prats and every other bloody thing they'd been through together washed around in his mind until the room began to spin.

"I need a walk," he slurred, standing up. He held his hand out to her. "Come with me?"

She looked at him as though he had two heads. "Where are we going?"

"For a walk."

"Where?"

"Outside."

"_Ron..._"

"_Hermione..."_ he droned, mocking her voice. She slapped his arm and smirked.

"I'm in my PJ's."

"No-one will see you."

Hermione deliberated for a few seconds. When Ron took a taunting step towards the door, she sighed in surrender and scrambled to her feet.

"Where are we going, then?" she asked, taking his hand. It was amazing how something so simple could flood his veins with happiness and confidence.

"There's this bit near the woods where we always used to hide as kids," he explained, internally frowning as he choked back the nostalgia. All his memories would sting now.

The sky was now a pretty shade of deep blue. It was just light enough to see Hermione's face. As soon as he was outside, walking, holding her hand, he was no longer swollen with the pressure of everything going on. He still needed her company though.

"You scared about the inquiry?" he asked as they trudged up the hill towards the wooded area. Behind them, the lights of the Burrow were flickering on, as we were the lights of Ottery St Catchpole in the distance.

Hermione shook her head. "Like Kingsley said, they're not going to do anything. They'll look bad if they arrest us. They'll just ask us some questions and take some memories."

Ron winced. If the Ministry didn't know how much of an arse he'd been, they'd be sure to know once they'd extracted Harry and Hermione's memories.

"...although," began Hermione again, moving a little closer to him as they walked. "It does set things back a little bit."

"What d'you mean?" he asked.

"Well, I don't see as though they'd let me leave the country while all this goes on. I have no idea when they're going to call me in..."

"You planning a holiday?" Ron smirked, nudging her. He didn't see how being Britain bound was an issue.

Hermione glanced at him briefly, looking a little hurt. "It's hardly a holiday, but I do need to go to Australia and restore my parent's memories."

"Oh... yeah... of course..."

Ron let go of her hand and put an arm round her shoulders. It had been months since she mentioned her parents. How had he forgotten about them? She probably talked to Harry about them, rather than him. She probably thought Harry was a better listener. She probably thought Harry cared more than he did during those dark months on the run.

"Can I come with you?" he blurted, stopping in his tracks. She spun round.

"What, to Australia?"

"Yeah."

"Um... yes. If you want."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, no! I just... don't see why you'd want to..."

Ron shrugged and stood a little taller. "I'm your boyfriend. I've got responsibilities."

Hermione crossed her arms. "What makes you think I can't take care of myself?"

"I know you can take care of yourself," he said, rolling his eyes.

"So what's the problem?"

"Hermione, please let me come with you. Australia's huge, there's probably loads of creepy blokes out there. I'm not the only bloke in the world that thinks you're pretty."

He'd hope she would blush and maybe thank him. Instead, she rolled her eyes.

"What?" he asked. "You are."

"I know you like me, Ron," she blushed. "You don't have to try and flatter me."

"I wasn't trying anything," said Ron truthfully. "You're pretty and I want to be with you when you get your parents back."

Hermione looked up at him and seemed to search his face for something.

"There are millions of massive spiders in Australia."

Ron gulped. "I don't care."

Hermione gave a small smile and put her hand back in his. "Alright. We'll go together."

Ron hid his ridiculous giddy grin by leading her onwards towards the woods. They walked in a comfortable silence. As they reached the top of the hill, thoughts of their imminent trip to Australia filled his mind. Travelling alone with Hermione would definitely be the perk of his year. It would mark a big step in their relationship. Away from school, away from Harry, away from family. Maybe she'd get nervous and lean in to him more. They could kiss in public. They'd have to find places to sleep and they'd have nothing to do but be with each other. They could be normal if you momentarily disregard the mission to restore a muggle couple's memories.

But Ron wasn't thick. He noticed how he prayed for moments of normality in their relationship, rather than progression. Sure, he was eager to push the established boundaries of their relationship at some point. But emotionally, was there anywhere they really needed to go? He wanted to take her out on a date because that's what she deserved. It was normal. She needed to be happy. But why else was he asking her? Why did she think they needed a first date?

"I owe you a date," he said suddenly, when they were in the shadow of the trees.

"Yes, you do," she said, smiling. He dropped her hand and wondered over to the tree that he remembered dozing against in the summer before his first year at Hogwarts. It was the one memory he had in which he was truly carefree.

"I was wondering... what you had in mind."

He looked over to her. She looked confused, but she still smiled. "I don't know, Ronald._ You _asked _me _out, remember? I don't mind what we do."

Stupidly, he only reacted with vague acknowledgment. This was all so uncomfortable. They'd just started out, but she was still Hermione... she was still bookish, barmy, brilliant Hermione. Being his girlfriend wouldn't change her.

"Do you not want to go on a date with me?" she asked quietly. He looked over at her in alarm. She was almost tearing up. "Is that why you took this long to bring it up again?"

"No! I mean yes! I mean... obviously, I want to go on a date with you. But..."

He sounded like an arse again, and he knew he was in danger of upsetting her again.

"But?" she probed. They were ten feet away from each other.

"I reckon it'll be weird, going on a date with you. First dates are for getting to know one another, and I already know everything about you."

"That's rubbish! You don't know _everything_ about me!"

"Well, no, not everything, but..."

"But what?! Ron, I don't understand what you want to get out of this!"

"Out of what?"

"This argument!"

"Oh, this is an argument now?"

"Yes!"

Hermione's hair was beginning to crackle. He was entering dangerous territory, with her and within him. How could she not see it? Had she been _that _naive about his feelings all this time? They were clear as day to every other bloody person in the world...

"Look," he began again, staying calm. Arguing with Hermione was his normality, but not like this. Not about _them._ "I just wanted to know what you had in mind for a date. I don't want to do the conventional first date stuff. It'll be too weird. It'll feel like we're pretending."

Hermione blushed and looked down at the grassy ground. "Well, it seemed like a good place to start."

"But I don't want to feel like we're starting out."

"What does _that _mean?"

"I'm in love with you."

...great.

While she continued to stare at him with an expression that looked to be somewhere between amazement and fear, his chest physically hurt. He'd imagined that if he ever managed to tell her, he'd no longer feel as though he were carrying the world on his shoulders. Now, the words simply hung thickly around them like fog. He watched her for any signs that she loved him back. The fog was too obscuring.

He remembered her breezing past her with Krum at the Yule Ball. The gut-wrenching regret he felt for not asking her to dance with him echoed in his stomach. His overwhelming guilt when he learnt that she'd sat at his bedside in the hospital wing even after he'd spent weeks avoiding her hit him again. The heart break he'd felt when she'd first told him about her parents and the misery he felt in those dark months without her all piled on top of him until his conviction was entirely resolved.

"We've only got one life, right? You and I know that better than anyone, 'Mione. I know I sound like a right numpty now, but I don't care anymore."

She was breathing heavily, seemingly stunned. He kept going regardless. One life, one love. She was his.

"I've been such a twat. I don't get why you're with me but I'm not bloody letting you go any time soon. You're literally perfect, 'Mione. You're kind and funny and you're an effing genius and you're pretty..."

Tears glistened in her eyes. He would not regret making her cry this time. She needed to hear this. He needed to tell her. Everything in his life spiralled around her. He didn't understand any of it without her.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you're beautiful. And it really pisses me off that you don't see that."

Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed. An evening breeze blew. All the sounds that would make for a tranquil moment of calm all dissolved into mundane motifs of the day in comparison to the beautiful girl standing a few yards away from him.

"Don't swear, Ronald," she said quietly.

Ron scoffed. "Is that it?"

"No, of course not."

"Then... say something else," he failed to disguise the fleck of hope in his voice.

"I... didn't know you felt that way."

Ron laughed. "Oh, come on! Really?"

Hermione blinked several time as annoyance dawned on her face. "Well excuse me for not seeing the signs! I must've been distracted by the countless arguments and incessant teasing! How on Earth I managed to fall in love with someone who constantly made me cry, I have no idea!"

The crow cawed again. Ron took a step towards her.

"What did you just say?"

Hermione took three long strides towards him, the annoyance gone. In its place was something Ron would never be able to pinpoint.

"In light of letting go of the past... and being uncharacteristically spontaneous... it might be a good time for me to admit that I've been madly in love with you for years."

Ron gawped at her. She loved him. He loved her. It seemed ridiculous that they were still so far away from each other. They soon closed the gap.

The lovers kissed passionately. They arms circled each other, desperate to feel the comfort and love that only their embrace could provide. No awkwardness, no trepidation. They were in love. Nothing else mattered.

When they broke apart, Ron stared at her in amazement. In this light, above all others, she was the most beautiful thing in existence.

"You love me!" he breathed, astonished.

She rolled her eyes jokingly. "You're supposed to say it the other way round."

Ron grinned. "I love you," he said. To his delight, something inside him slotted into place. Hermione witnessed it happen.

"I love you too," she beamed back, before reaching up and kissing him again.

oOo

_A/N: Review if you want. But be nice. No being rude to Romione shippers. Or Ron. _

_Love, _

_Nel X_


	11. Bloodstream

_I think I might've inhale you _  
_I could feel you behind my eyes _  
_You gotten into my bloodstream _  
_I could feel you floating in me_

_- "_Bloodstream" by Stateless

oOoOoO

It was amazing, really, how normal things could become after such a dramatic turn of events.

Hermione had finally heard those beautiful words from Ron, which now echoed around her head constantly.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

A day had passed. He'd stolen one quick kiss on the stairs in the single moment that they were alone together. Now, he was in the shower and she was washing dishes.

Whoever said that romance was dead?

There hadn't been fireworks or explosions or anything of the sort that she had so often read in books. That did not mean it hadn't been wonderful. Telling Ron that she loved him was like finally noticing that the snow was beginning to settle. It was joyful, because nothing in her world could possibly be ugly anymore. Hope, because they would always live with some distant threat. Now that they were here, in this awkward yet comfortable state of decided togetherness, Hermione felt lighter. She'd thought she'd always be weighed down with the weight of unrequited love. Hearing him tell her that he reciprocated her love had been... bliss.

"Want a hand?" asked someone from the doorway. Hermione turned and saw Harry. He gestured to the overflowing sink in front of her.

"Oh. Sure," she said casually, effectively hiding the sudden swell of guilt. She'd neglected Harry, these past few days. She'd gotten so used to giving him space that she hadn't gone near him at all.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked, handing him a tea towel. He grabbed a bowl and started drying.

"Not bad. You?"

"I'm well."

"Excellent."

Hermione and Harry continued in silence. Occasionally, she snuck glances at him in an attempt to decipher his expression. He wore that vague tiredness that he had usually done in the months before Voldemort had ever come tearing through the wizarding world, back into their lives. His jaw was unclenched. None of his usual pubescent angst there then.

When he finally looked up at her, she turned away with a blush.

"So..." he began in a light tone. "You and Ron, huh?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You knew that already, Harry," she grinned.

Harry shrugged, a sad smile playing at his mouth. "Yeah, I knew. You just didn't tell me."

Hermione looked at him and slowly put down the plate she'd been rinsing. "I... didn't think you'd want to know."

"Course I would!"

"I know, I know! I mean... Ron and I... _getting together_... must sound a little trivial to you. You just saved the wizarding world and so many people died..."

Harry widened his eyes at her in warning. Clearly, they were not to mention the 'D' word in The Burrow.

"Sorry..." she mumbled, returning to the washing up. "It seems like months ago."

"I know. It makes me feel so..."

"So...?"

"Invasive."

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like I'm intruding on them," he nodded his head in the direction of the door, referring to the Weasleys. "Both wars were tough on them and... I dunno, I feel like we should give them some space."

Hermione felt hot. His including of her in the intrusive nature of their 'guest' status made her feel for the first time as though she should leave.

"What about you and Ginny?" she asked quickly, shuddering out of her thoughts. "Where's that going?"

Harry sighed. "We're still... talking. She's still upset."

Had Harry not mentioned Fred before, Hermione would've asked him what Ginny was so hung up about. A horrible feeling roused in the pit of Hermione's stomach as the realisation that she might have simply been a distraction from Ron's grief slowly sunk in.

"My trial's tomorrow. I think I'll probably just pack up and make a move after that."

"Hmm..."

"Hermione?"

"Yes, sorry. What did you say?"

"I said I reckon I'll move out once my trial's over."

Hermione smiled at his trademark gallantry. "There's no need. Molly's said she'll let us stay until we go back."

"Go back where?"

"To Hogwarts, troll-brain!" her giggle was short-lived. Harry's shock had not been anticipated.

"You're... going back?"

"...aren't you?"

Neither of them spoke. This was the third knot in reality's rope. First, the trial. Second, the grief. Third, this.

They both heard footsteps stomping down the stairs. Seconds later, the kitchen door opened. Ron stepped in, looking casually indifferent yet somehow a little nervous.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked with a smirk.

"Not at all," said Hermione quickly, composing herself. She was acutely aware that she needed to talk to him. _Soon_. But his current choice of clothes caught her off guard.

He wore jeans, as per usual, and scruffy trainers. But he also wore the formal-ish off-white shirt he'd worn at Fred's funeral. As Hermione appraised him nervously, Ron looked down at himself self-consciously.

"You never usually dry your hair," remarked Hermione with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I didn't," he replied, smirking again.

"Then how-"

"Come upstairs with me."

Hermione was vaguely aware of Harry blushing scarlet and scurrying out the back door. Ron was holding his hand out, his cheeky smile alluding to some sort of plan.

She walked over to him and threaded her fingers into his. Silently, he turned them both around and lead her up the stairs. Hermione was inexplicably nervous and flushed, but decided it was too early in his scheme to chicken out. She frowned up at his smug smile.

"I don't like that look," she told him.

"Yes, you do."

"I don't like surprises."

"It's not a surprise. Well, not really. It's sort of a surprise. Half a surprise."

"Ron, what on earth are you talking about?"

Ron stopped them in the middle of the staircase and leaned his neck out, looking up and down the stairs, seemingly listening for movement.

"Okay. Hold tight."

He wrapped an arm round her waist and suddenly, her stomach lurched. He was apparating them clumsily. As Hermione felt her limbs twist and stretch, she tried hard to cling on to him. He wasn't as apparition-savvy as she was.

"Eurgh..." she groaned as her stomach settled. She kept her eyes shut, but was wary of the breeze around her and the sounds of twittering birds.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "We're here now, anyway."

She opened her eyes and her breath left her. Ron slowly released his arm from her and stepped into her view, smiling nervously at her as he awaited her reaction.

They were in a forest. At the edge of one, at least. Hermione could see rolling hills between the trees to her left. They were in a grassy clearing, in which a tartan picnic blanket had been laid and a hamper was placed in the middle. All around the blanket were empty jam jars.

"What are those for?" she asked, gesturing to the jars.

Ron looked bashful. "I tried to do those blue flame things, but I'm rubbish at them."

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. "Give me your wand."

Once Hermione had his wand, she set about conjuring a blue flame in each jar, of which there were nine. Ron had to explain that the tenth one was smashed when he was a little too overzealous with his Scougify charm.

When Hermione took a step back to admire their work, she felt that warm, fuzzy feeling one usually felt on Christmas morning. Despite the mild weather, the blue flames managed to make the sky look dark. It illuminated their little nook in the forest and isolated them, wrapping them in safety in a similar way that a warm bath on a snowy evening did.

"Come here," said Ron softly at long last, sitting on the blanket. Hermione eagerly joined him, revelling in that rare emotion that comes around when for a split second, nothing else matters.

She sat cross-legged opposite him, sitting bolt upright. "What's in the box, then?" she grinned.

He flipped open the lid of the hamper. "Don't take the piss," he said, echoing what he'd said seconds before she officially became his girlfriend.

From within the hamper he brought out a small bunch of daisies. She stared at him. His face turned pink and he looked away, thrusting them at her. "They're for you," he mumbled.

She took them from him and clutched them, a lump rising in her throat at how lovely he was.

"Thank you, Ron. I love them."

He blushed a deeper shade of red and smiled shyly up at her. He turned back to the hamper and pulled out two bottles of butterbeer and something in a cardboard box. He lifted the lid and revealed a red velvet cake, a wobbly heart-shape iced onto it.

Red velvet cake. If Ron thought for a second that it had been that something as trivial as a cake that had awoken her from her selfish, misery-induced coma all those weeks ago, he was so wrong. Of course, it had made a dent in things. It had not been the deciding factor. His worry, his care and his tears... everything he'd put into it; everything he'd shown her... that was what cured her.

"Ron..." she croaked before swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I can put it away if it's reminding you of-"

"No!" she barked, startling him. Where his hands left the box, she pushed it slowly across the blanket to the side, out of the way. Even slower, she crawled over to him and kissed him without hesitation.

She could tell he was confused by the kiss: he'd initially been anxious about her reaction to the cake. Eventually, his lips started moving with hers and his weight shifted as a hand went up to the side of her neck.

Having been made acutely self-aware in this position (lips on Ron's, with arse sticking out the other end), she curled herself into a ball, initially aiming to sit directly in front of him. She had not intended to end up sitting in his lap, arms round his neck, kissing him as passionately as this new position accommodated for. She needn't have worried. He soon got over his perplexity and opened his mouth to allow her tongue access. These kisses were the ones that kept her awake at night.

She spent evenings tossing and turning these days, thinking of the feel of his wet tongue on hers. Of course, she never let her mind stray _whilst _they were kissing. Kissing was instinctual; spontaneous. It was the afterthought that drove her mad. They'd been together properly for a matter of days and she was already getting desperately flustered at the thought of going further... not that these new stirrings were foreign to her. She still lacked the privacy to do anything about them.

Some while later, after she'd re-arranged herself multiple times, she felt her body thud against him. He'd lowered them into a lying position on the blanket.

She tore her lips away from his. "If this cake was a cunning scheme to wrestle your way into a snog, Mr Weasley, shame on you," she breathed, half congratulating herself on maintaining coherence while being so hot and bothered.

"No... for you... you..." he panted, looking up at her in awe. Before any more words could be exchanged, she crushed her lips to his again. He responded with much more enthusiasm than before, if that were even possible. He rolled them over, coming to settle comfortably on top of her. She clutched him further down on top of her, feeling far too distant from him. Removing their clothes would've helped. Unable to resist, she ground her hips upwards. She immediately felt the bulge that she'd only briefly been aware of two days ago before he'd leapt off her. Instead, he did not resist. He rolled his hips into hers in response.

"Mmm... love you..." he mumbled into her lips. Their hips met again.

Suddenly, images of her reflection flashed in her mind as the possibility of this escapade going further dawned on her. If clothes were removed and eyes roamed, he would see things she really didn't want him to see.

"Ron!" she squeaked.

He was off her in an instant, as far away from her as possible. She sat up, gaining her breath. He sat awkwardly in the other corner of the blanket, his folded arms bending over to conceal his tenting jeans.

"'Mione, I'm... sorry. Really sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Ron, it's fine," she promised him, looking at him squarely. She meant it, of course. This wasn't his fault. "I just think we should... slow down."

"Yeah... sure..." he was really out of breath. Red in the face.

They were left listening to each other's breathing as their pulses slowed back to normal. At first Hermione thought the blue flames had grown bigger and brighter than before, but then realised it was down to the darkening sky.

"I'm really sorry," Ron said again, his breath having returned to normal.

"Don't apologise, Ron," she said softly. "I liked it."

She smiled at him. This whole world of sexual frustration, no matter how furiously fast-paced hers was, was a magnificent world to explore. He smiled sadly back.

After what Ron had said about having one life, Hermione was almost dead certain that the next conflict would be pace. She was sure he saw no reason in waiting, which she entirely understood. Had things gone differently this past year, she would've even agreed. But she'd seen parts of herself that nobody had seen before. In her later Hogwarts years, she'd pictured the ideal scenario in which he'd see her bare skin for the first time. They'd be in a dimly-lit room on a four-poster bed. She'd slowly unbutton her blouse, ever being the subtle seductress she'd wanted to be in moments alone with Ron. His eyes would rake over her torso and he'd lunge for her, hungrily ravishing her into the early hours of the morning. Now, she could see no other possible outcome of revealing herself other than his utter horror. He'd seen her topless once before and he'd broken down in tears. The scars were showing no signs of fading.

"Hermione?"

"Mmm?"

"Want a butterbeer?" he held one of the glass bottles of orange liquid out to her. She took it. It was wet with condensation and still cold, after Ron having placed a Cooling charm in the hamper.

"Thanks," she smiled up at him again.

Thankfully, his smile was genuine. "I do love you, 'Mione," he said, suddenly becoming sincere. "When I first told you, I... I meant every word of it."

"I know you did," she said softly. "And I love you, too. Now open this bottle for me. I'm too weak."

oOoOoO

_A/N: Review etc. _

_See you next Saturday!_

_Nel X_


	12. Love Is Blindness

There was no way Hermione would get enough sleep for a while now...

There were too many things to think about. The trial, her parents, Ron...

Ron was at the forefront of her mind now: at five in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to rise.

Hermione lay under a thick duvet on the creaky camp-bed in Ginny's room. No concentration of heating charms could deter the unseasonably chilly air that was permeating the room from outside. This was one of the pit-falls of living at The Burrow: wear at least three layers at all times, or prepare to watch your toes turn blue.

To Hermione's surprise, her current thoughts were not enough to stop her shivering, no matter how hot and flustered she felt. Her mind was racing with yesterday's date, which was filled with new, impossibly strong feelings and... stirrings.

These weren't _entirely _new. She'd been old enough to digest inappropriate thoughts about Ron since she'd started wearing proper bras. She was as certain as the rising sun that her physical attraction to Ron would never go away. But were these thoughts still inappropriate? He was her boyfriend and they were in love... ugh, she was _so _in love. She was allowed to have these thoughts... these fantasies about that snogging going further than she'd allowed. Hermione noticed how much different she looked in these daydreams. Her hair was tame. She was taller. Her breasts were larger. Her skin was flawless...

She sat bolt upright and reached for the dressing gown at the foot of her bed. There was no way she was getting any sleep now.

The dormant house was breathing in its sleep. As Hermione tiptoed downstairs, the creaks of the wooden shingles were the Burrow's light snores. She crept into the lounge, where only the ticking clock could be heard. The house was protective of its slumbering children, like a home should. Hermione smiled sadly. The house reminded her of family Christmases, and the silly rhymes her mother used to whisper to her in bed in December. _Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a..._

"Mr Weasley?"

The jolly ginger man sat in his pyjamas and dressing gown in the armchair by the fire, his head lolled to the side in a fireside doze. His eyes flickered open.

"Oh. Hello Hermione. Morning, is it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Ah."

He strained to straighten himself up. The fire was dying out beside him. He sighed at it forlornly. "Blasted fire-lighting charm. One can never perfect these sorts of spells when one's distracted!" he grinned politely.

Hermione swallowed thickly. "No, I suppose not," it was best to leave her pretentious habit of spewing knowledge at capable wizards for another day.

He kept his eyes trained on the dying embers. "I expect you've got a busy day ahead of you," said Mr Weasley, eliciting a confused look from Hermione. "Making plans and so forth. Harry tells me you two are searching for homes!"

"Harry... said that?"

Mr Weasley nodded, happy to remain oblivious to the fact that alarm bells were ringing in Hermione's head. _Expectations. Plans. Future. Adults. Ron. Harry. _

"I... wasn't planning on..." she began. Mr Weasley's weary smile began to fade a little bit. Something rolled in Hermione's stomach. Maybe Harry had been right. Maybe leaving the Weasleys to their grief _would _ be the kind thing to do... "... moving out until I'd restored my parents' memories!" Hermione finished quickly. There, that seemed logical.

"Ah, yes... your parents."

The two remained in silence for several seconds while Mr Weasley stared solemnly into the fireplace.

"You must've missed them a great deal. You know, when you were on your travels and such. I bet you can't wait to see them again."

Hermione blinked rapidly. "I do miss them very much, Mr Weasley."

Mr Weasley looked up at her suddenly, startling her with his watery eyes. "You give them both a big hug... tell them you love them."

Hermione wanted to run from the room.

"I will."

Mr Weasley nodded, then returned to staring into the fire. "Australia, is it?"

"Yes. Sydney."

"Excellent. Wonderful weather over there. Good... good collection of... erm, species of spider..."

Hermione smiled half-heartedly.

"Who mentioned spiders?" asked Ron's voice from the stairwell. Only then was Hermione aware of his lolloping down the stairs towards the lounge.

"Morning, Ron!" called Mr Weasley, rising to his feet.

As Ron stumbled in, running a hand through his hair and yawning, the house woke up. Doors opened and closed upstairs, people scurried across floors and more footsteps clambered down the stairs. The Burrow bloomed for another day.

"Morning," said Hermione to Ron.

His tired eyes searched the room for her, eventually spotting her and waking up fully. A smile played at his lips.

"Morning, 'Mione."

"Sleep well, Ron?" asked Mr Weasley loudly.

"Er, yeah."

"Brilliant! Now go and start on the breakfast, son. You've got a girlfriend to impress."

Mr Weasley grinned at his son. Hermione watched the two men exchange a look she would never understand. Finally, without another word, Ron walked through to the kitchen. Hermione would've followed him, had Harry not stumbled into the lounge at that moment.

"Harry, I need a word with you," she said seriously, approaching him. He took a step backwards, looking a little alarmed.

"Er, OK..."

"BREAKFAST!" screeched Mrs Weasley, swerving into the lounge and out the other door to the kitchen. "EVERYONE GRAB A SEAT!"

Harry practically sprinted for the door. Hermione sighed and followed suit. She would get him alone eventually.

Ron was standing bashfully as he fried eggs and bacon in separate pans. Hermione came to stand next to him, a little closer than perhaps she would've a year ago.

"Nice," she commented lightly. When she was sure everyone else was busy passing round plates and cutlery, she stroked his arm with the back of her finger. "You're quite the chef."

"Standing here prodding food while it cooks on its own is hardly master cookery."

"I was only being nice..."

"Well I don't need your help."

"You're an arse, Ronald Weasley."

"And you're mental."

"And you're not a morning person."

"And you're not a... a... person."

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

She stared at him blankly until he turned and grinned.

"That makes no sense, Ronald."

"Sit down, wench, so I can serve you some breakfast."

Hermione grinned and sat down in between Harry and Mrs Weasley. Ron came to stand between Hermione and his mother and scooped some of the food onto Hermione's plate.

"Thank you, Ronald," she said, noticing in her peripheral vision that Mrs Weasley was staring straight forward. She continued to do so until Ron had finished serving her breakfast.

"Yes, thank you indeed, Ronnie."

Hermione's eyes shifted to glance at Mrs Weasley, whose lips were pursed.

"Hermione... you're meant to eat it," said Ron, who'd sat down opposite her.

"I know, Ronald, thank you."

The usual bustle of the Weasley breakfast table picked up again, and Hermione found herself drifting into her daydreams again whilst she ate. She tried to be logical and rational: fretting about plans to Australia and the trial and Hogwarts. She'd have to talk to Ron. Ron. _Ron._

Every time she even looked at Ron, she felt so far away from him. Knowing how it felt to be in his arms, to be connected at the lips, was torture. It was ridiculous and needy and painful and shaming.

"Right, we'd better be off!" said Mr Weasley suddenly, rising from his seat. Hermione shook off her rapid-moving thought process.

"Arthur, dear, wait until everyone's finished!" smiled Mrs Weasley animatedly, tugging at his sleeve for him to sit down.

Maybe she should watch Mrs Weasley closely.

"Molly, it starts in an hour!"

"We won't take that long!"

"Molly, I'd rather we got there early than late."

Mrs Weasley glared at her fearful husband for a long second before standing. "Alright. Harry, dear, get your jacket."

"Where're you lot going?" asked George, drawing the room's attention to him. Hermione's shoulders drooped a little. Just looking at him...

"Harry's trial," said Ginny eventually. "I'm coming too."

"Ginny, I'd much prefer it if you-"

"Molly, we don't have time to argue, let's just go! George, you going into Diagon Alley?" asked Mr Weasley, grabbing a pair of corduroy trousers from a stack of washing in the corner.

"Yup."

"Percy, you're...?"

"Going with him."

That made Hermione smile. After all, it had been Percy's reunion with the family that had allowed Fred to die smiling.

"Very well. Fall out, Weasleys!" Mr Weasley grinned. Hermione waved to him as he left to get changed. Before he disappeared, he winked fondly at her.

Within seconds, the kitchen had emptied as quickly as Kings' Cross Station on Christmas morning, leaving Hermione alone with Ron.

"Thank you for breakfast," she smiled, feeling like... well, like a prat.

Ron shrugged. "I make it a rule to always put my heart and soul into a fry-up."

"Tasted like it," she agreed.

"Good."

"Very."

He grinned at her. She loved that cheeky smile so much, it was nauseating... but now was not the time for gushy romantic sentiments. Today was the day to talk.

"Ron..."

"I love you," he said happily.

"Don't interrupt me," she scolded. A second later, she blushed and smiled. "There's no need to remind me every ten minutes."

"I know," Ron shrugged. "I just like saying it."

Hermione stood up. "Well, I like hearing it."

"Well, that's something," he walked round the table towards her, his awkwardness at intimacy still remaining despite everything that had happened. She loved him for that, though. He was a gentleman in that respect.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked as he took her hand.

Ron shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'm not fussed."

"I need to... look into international portkeys. You know, for Australia."

Ron nodded, bringing another hand up to sit on her waist. She knew plan-making hardly fascinated him. It was a Ron trait.

"Will that take hours?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Probably not, no..."

"Good," he moved closer to her, shadowing her. "I don't fancy spending all day researching wizarding travel laws when we have the whole house to ourselves-"

"TERRIBLY SORRY!" squeaked Mrs Weasley, stumbling into the kitchen out of nowhere. Ron and Hermione jumped apart.

"I forgot my... flask!"

She scurried over to the counter and yanked open a drawer.

"Oh, rats, it's not here. Oh well! Ron, I don't suppose you could find it for me while we're gone?"

"Mum, why don't you just use the-?"

"SEE YOU LATER!" she was an orange blur, then she was gone.

Silence permeated the house in the way it had done just two hours ago.

"The bloody hell was that about?" asked Ron, staring at the door.

"No idea," she lied. She knew that if she let Ron know about his mother's inhibitions about his new relationship, the two of them would be forced to broach the subject with Mrs Weasley. Hermione preferred that tensions did not rise until _after_ she'd moved out.

Ron took her hand again.

"You wanna... go sit in the lounge?" he asked.

"Sure."

He lead her through to the living room, speeding up suddenly when they both realised the suggestive nature of the movement. The living room was even colder than the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, was the sun a horcrux? I'm freezing my-"

"Ron."

"-ears off."

Hermione whipped out her wand, which now lived in her back pocket, and aimed it at the fireplace. A quick mutter of a fire-lighting incantation and a little heat thawed out the shivering pair.

"British weather..."grumbled Ron, hugging himself as Hermione bent down to poke the fire. "too temperamental for my liking. It's probably a million degrees out in Australia now."

"Probably," Hermione sighed, putting the poker back. She stood up and faced him. She could see how she'd been so careless to upset him before: he didn't _look_ like he was still grieving. Then again, she hardly had an opportunity to look at him properly when they were together.

"Warm enough?" she asked casually.

"Nope. Come here," he uncrossed his arms and held them out towards her. Despite her agenda, she willingly stepped into his arms, relishing his warmth. He smelt like clean laundry and Christmas. They stood there, arms around each other in a comfortable silence, listening to the firewood crackle.

"How d'you think Harry's trial's going?" asked Ron.

"They only just left. They're probably not there yet."

"Oh yeah..."

Hermione smiled inwardly. Bless Ron's attempts at small talk. She looked up, initially hoping to ease them into a proper conversation about plans... but he was staring at her in such a... comfortable way. He looked like he adored her and it made Hermione feel like a balloon was expanding in her chest.

"Is this weird?" he asked suddenly.

"No... why, do you think it's weird?"

"No, just... you look confused."

"A little bit," she admitted. Ron frowned. How could a fully grown man like Ron made her heart melt with a simple frown?

"-but it's nothing," she added quickly. As Ron's frown disappeared, Hermione was only half cheered. The longer she left this talk, the worse it would get. The closer they got to September the first, the greater a betrayal it would feel.

"Actually..." she whispered. She couldn't speak louder, for his lips were very close to hers. Could the conversation wait? Could she seek a teensy bit of happiness in achieving something a little reflective of the fantasies she'd been having recently?

"I know what you're gunna ask me," he murmured, pulling back slightly. "Harry told me."

Hermione slipped from her Ron-induced daze. "Harry told you what?"

"That you want to go back."

_Curse Harry..._

She froze in his arms. She'd barely been conscious of the fact that they'd been slowly rotating, dancing.

"I... wanted to talk to you about it... myself..." she spluttered feebly. He didn't look angry.

"I know, I know. I think Harry assumed you'd told me."

"Are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry?"

She dropped her arms from his waist. "Because I kept it from you."

She wandered over to the sofa and collapsed down onto it. He slowly walked towards her and sat down with a sigh beside her. When Hermione snuggled into his side, it was not quite instinctual. They hadn't got that far yet, but it still felt natural and safe and lovely.

"I didn't think you wanted to hear it yet. You kept talking about having one life, living in the present..."

"'Mione, it's okay!" the arm he'd had round the top of the sofa dropped down to hug her to him. "I... kind of knew you'd want to finish Hogwarts. If it's what you want, then you've got to do it. I'll keep myself busy."

"You're definitely not going, then..."

Ron's face didn't change. She saw sadness cloud his mind though. "I can't. I'm not as brave as you. I can't face all of that again. I reckon I need a bit more time, you know?"

_Don't mention Fred, Hermione. Don't mention Fred._

"I'll miss you," she said at long last, turning her head so that she directly faced him. He did the same. He smiled, his eyes waking up with an exciting emotion that Hermione recognised now.

"It's only June. We've got a while."

Their lips met. They kissed softly for what seemed like no time at all before those stirrings greeted Hermione again. They were alone, in possibly one of the most romantic scenes she'd ever heard of. A living room, on the sofa by a fire. In love.

She grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him down on top of her, then kicking her legs out so he settled between them. This was what she wanted. Closeness.

He kissed her hungrily. She reciprocated. His roaming hands ran down her sides, up her neck and around her thighs. Her skin flamed.

"I love you," she breathed, finding it satisfying to say. She wrapped her legs around his torso.

"Love you too," he said, staring into her eyes for a second before disappearing. He began trailing kisses down her neck. Hermione wanted to say something... or do something... something was growing inside her, but she couldn't think what when at last, she moaned.

"Fuck..." she heard him mumble into her shoulder. His right hand moved slowly up her ribs until it almost reached her breast. _Sod it, _as he would say. She forcefully grabbed his hand and placed in squarely on her breast. He moaned louder than she had. Immediately she felt better.

It was boiling in the lounge.

_Remove your clothes and reveal your scars. _

Hermione's eyes snapped open.

_He'll see your body and run a mile. _

"Ron."

"I love you..."

"_Ron!_"

He sat up, watching her for explanation. She straightened up, blushing furiously as she adjusted her low-cut t-shirt.

"I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "It wasn't you, I... I think we're moving a little fast, don't you?"

She hated herself. She hated what she was saying. She felt cold without him on top of her.

"Yeah, sure, just... sorry."

"It's not you, Ron, really."

"But-"

"Look," she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips again. "I don't want to get carried away."

Ron glanced down at her lips again. She smiled and kissed him, slowly this time. When she pulled away, he did not look hurt.

"I wasn't trying anything," he said innocently. She gave him a look.

"I'm not ready for that stuff yet either," he continued.

"It's fine, Ron."

"You don't think I'm pushing or anything, do you?"

"No, of course not!"

"Good. 'cos I love you and I'd never do that."

Hermione stared at him, eyes stinging. It was things he said, like that, that begged her to tell him that she _was _ready. Merlin's sake, she wanted him. If it weren't for her body's sickening state, she'd throw composure to the wind and rip his shirt off. Sod tradition, sod manners, sod waiting. If it weren't for those bloody horrific scars...

"I need to research those portkeys, Ron," she said sadly. Ron nodded understandingly before bowing his head.

Hermione grabbed his shirt collar. He looked up, startled.

"I love you ever so much, Ron. You know I do."

Ron smiled shyly, then blushed. "Ten more minutes?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and leant back into the sofa. "Fine. Ten more minutes."

He grinned and put an arm around her waist. "And then maybe after we've researched the-"

"Ugh, yes, Ronald!" she exclaimed, her voice a little too gravelly. They stared at each other before bursting into laughter. Ron was quick to meet her lips again.

oOoOoO

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. Christmas and such. _

_Have a good one, _

_Nel X_


	13. Mad World

CHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTER CONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAIN SLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONS CHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTER CONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAIN SLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONS CHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTER CONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAIN SLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONS CHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTER CONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAIN SLEMONSCHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONS CHAPTERCONTAINSLEMONSCHAPTER CONTAINSLEMONS. Just be aware, kay?

oOo

The members of the jury stared down at her like a bat colony in the shadowy roof of a cave. They nattered to one another. Some simply stared at her.

"Stand still, Miss Granger," said a male voice behind her. She flinched and spun round. A man in purple robes stood with his wand at her head. "We need to extract memories of the past year. Of course, you can decline."

Hermione glanced round at the jury. A severe-looking elderly man sat in the minister's seat staring right at her, seemingly watching for incompliance or misconduct.

"You may," said Hermione, becoming still as she faced the front. The tip of the wizard's wand tickled her temple. In her peripheral, her memories glowed silver. The jury became quiet.

oOo

24 hours earlier...

"So, we have a number of options," began Hermione.

"Mmm..." Ron kissed her neck. His hands remained at her hips.

"We can take ten portkeys across Europe and Asia to Australia without much trouble. That will take three weeks."

"Mmm..."

"Or, we can take one to Singapore, stay for a week, then take one to Australia. That'll take less time."

"Mhmm..."

"Or, we can wait get sorted quickly, take the portkey that leaves in two days and be very, very sick when we arrive."

"Mmm...'Mione..."

"I think we'll do that one. We're big kids, we can handle a little nausea. We'll take sickness tablets. Or we could go an aeroplane, but-"

"WHOA!"

Ron sat bolt upright, a look of horror plastered on his face. "I know what aeroplanes are. You are NOT dragging to one of your muggle death-traps, you sick wench!"

"You're such a baby!" she poked him in the ribs. "We can't afford plane tickets anyway. I don't have a sickle to my name and you..."

She paused, watching Ron compose his face. Hermione has _always _spoken with tact and thought. Why did Ron always conjure up her ability to sound like a bitch?

"...you need to save up. You know, for whatever you're planning to do next year."

Ron leant back into the sofa, resting a hand on her thigh. Like an old couple. Hermione loved that.

"I'm gunna help George with his shop. I spoke to him about it a few days ago."

Hermione smiled. "Good. I'm glad."

"You don't think it's a stupid idea?"

"Of course not! If it's what you want to do, then-"

"Not forever..." Ron sat up and leant his chin on his hand. "Don't get me wrong, I wanna help George get his business going again, it's just... I don't think he knows how to be alone."

Hermione's stomach fluttered as her boyfriend spoke with such ardent tenderness. She reached over, and put a hand on his cheek, gently pulling him to face her.

"I'll miss you a lot, when I'm gone."

Ron smiled half-heartedly. "We can meet up at Hogsmeade."

Hermione grinned back. "Yes we can."

They started kissing again, just like they had been before the aeroplane was mentioned. Only, Hermione wasn't as preoccupied as before. She was engaged in this particular activity, and wherever Ron's hands went, goose-bumps were raised.

When she was kissing Ron, Hermione was daring. She was hardly ever her logical self. There was just a spark of irritating insecurity every now and then to remind her not to go overboard. But now, she was safe from harm. They were curled up on his bed, with his parents downstairs. He'd been kissing her neck for long enough.

"Allow me," she growled, pushing him back. She sat up and threw a leg over his thighs, sliding across to straddle him. She didn't want to think about what she was currently doing, but she sure enjoyed feeling _this much _alive. He stared wide-eyed up at her in amazement. She grinned before ducking her head to kiss his neck.

"Blimey, Hermione..." he breathed.

"Mmm?" her lips froze at the base of his neck

"N-nothing. You can c-carry on..."

She grinned, and continued her ministrations. She shifted forward so that their chests met and hips bumped accidentally. It was a conflicting emotional journey, snogging Ron. The liberating feeling that she could finally snog him, that he was finally hers, and that she could make him react like _this... _she felt, for the time, that she was attractive. In the past, Ron had had a taste for very pretty women. Now, the bulge in his trousers was for her.

"Ronald and- ARGH!"

Ron and Hermione leapt apart, throwing themselves to opposite ends of the bed.

"MUM!" squeaked Ron, grabbing a pillow. Molly Weasley stood in the open doorway, a wavering manic grin plastered across her face to hide her horror.

"Ronald, Hermione... pleasant afternoon?" Mrs Weasley whimpered weakly.

"Why didn't you knock?!" Ron shouted, clutching the pillow to his crotch. Hermione felt her face burning red.

"The door was open,"

"No it wasn't!"

"It must've... opened by itself..."

"Oh brilliant. You hear that, Hermione? Our bedroom door is possessed. Mum, what do you want?"

Ron's reference to _their _bedroom lingered in the air like smog. Hermione would've been happy, had Mrs Weasley been one suggestive comment away from exploding.

"I wanted to talk to you about Hermione's trial tomorrow."

Hermione held her breath.

"...go on, then!" commanded Ron.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. "Will you be coming with us, Ron? To the ministry."

"'Course I'll be going. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't talk to me like that, Ronald, it's disrespectful," his mother scolded. "Harry wants to go to. He says it's his duty."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Ronald, I hope you're not losing your temper with me..."

"No, mother."

"Good. I wasn't sure you were going. You two have so many arrangements to be getting on with for your trip to Australia. When is it that you're going?"

The pair exchanged an anxious glance.

"Mum, we erm... we need to talk to you about that."

oOo

_Present Day..._

"Miss Granger," began the old man. His low voice was intense and penetrating. "Do you swear on possession of your wand that you will answer all questions put to you truthfully?"

"I do," Hermione spoke a little too loudly. Her voice echoed around the marble room, startling everyone.

"Very well," the old man adorned a pair of half-moon spectacles. Hermione's heart panged. "We shall begin."

Everybody leaned forward. The old man shuffled some papers on his high desk.

"You are Hermione Jean Granger, daughter of muggles Robert and Jean Granger. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You started Hogwarts in 1991?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You have known Mister Harry Potter since...?"

"Since our first year at Hogwarts."

"Mr Potter claims that you and Mister Ronald Weasley were close companions throughout your time at Hogwarts. Do you deny that?"

"Not at all, Sir."

"Please could you describe your relationship with Mister Harry Potter?"

"We're just friends," she said quickly. "I mean, we're very good friends. He's my best friend. We've known each other since our first year at Hogwarts."

"And have you ever been romantically or sexually involved with him?"

Hermione balked. "Er... no, Sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

oOo

_22 hours earlier..._

"Harry?" Ron knocked on Ginny's bedroom door. It made him shudder that this room should be Harry's default hiding place, but it would be hypocrisy to berate him for it. After all, Ron spent hours in his room with Hermione these days, so much that he'd neglected to talk to his best friend. The last time they'd spoken, things had been revealed and the conversation had been tense.

"Come in," said Harry from behind the door.

Ron entered. He found Harry sitting at Ginny's desk alone, reading over a newspaper.

"What you up to?" asked Ron casually.

Harry shrugged. "Just glossing over the news, checking that there isn't any libel nonsense about me."

"There's no need to stay cooped up in here. Why don't you go downstairs?"

Harry shrugged again.

"I'd invite you on a walk with Hermione and me, but I thinks she wants a chat with you in private."

Harry looked a little nervous. "Oh yeah? What about?"

Ron shut the door and sat down on Ginny's bed. "You know last time we spoke and I called you a complacent fuck?"

"Er, yeah..."

"I think Hermione's gunna say something similar to you. She was a bit annoyed that you told me about her going to Hogwarts before she'd spoken to me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm sorry and all that, but she was taking a while to tell you. I didn't think it was fair."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "She was getting around to it. She was waiting for the right time."

Harry snorted. "When was that? You two are always cooped up in your room together."

"Is that a problem?"

"Yes, actually. I defeated Voldemort and spent years battling him, now I... I dunno, I need someone to talk to."

"Well, Hermione and me are open ears! If you wanna talk, don't be shy!"

"'Hermione and me,', you sound like you did with Lavender! I killed Voldemort and you two are acting like giggly first years around each other, necking behind the tool shed and planning holidays... in the scheme of things, isn't that a bit... frivolous?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ron stood up and held up his hands. "Yeah, you killed Voldie, mate, but don't get cocky. You wouldn't have been able to do it without-"

"I know, Ron, but-"

"-Hermione and me, _we _destroyed horcruxes too, _we_ killed death eaters and _we _saved your bloody skin! And there is _nothing _frivolous or irrelevant or trivial about my relationship with Hermione. I love her."

That shut Harry up.

"I love her. And we're not planning any fucking holidays, mate. We're going to Australia to get her parents back," Ron straightened up and crossed his arms. He was even starting to act like Hermione... "we're leaving the day after Hermione's trial. I spoke to Mum. She was pissed, but... we're adults. She gets that now."

Harry remained silent. Ron felt it to be a good time to leave. He pulled the bedroom door open.

"And another thing," said Ron quickly, remembering something that Hermione had hinted at in an earlier conversation. "If you hurt my sister again, I'll rip your bollocks off."

"Same to you, mate," said Harry, suddenly very calm and composed. Ron said nothing. He merely stepped into the hallway and slammed the door.

Standing in the hallway was his mother, watery-eyed and quiet, having heard every word.

oOo

_Present day..._

The old man glanced down at his papers. He read them for a moment.

"It says here that you, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley were often found to be at the forefront of suspicion when it came to disturbances at Hogwarts school. How do you explain that?"

"I'm... not sure that I understand."

The old man shrugged. "How do you account for your track record of impossible heroism at the school?"

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Dumb luck?"

The jury began whispering to each other as the old man looked offended.

"Miss Granger, you spent nearly a year searching for horcruxes with Mister Potter and Mister Weasley. That must've been hard work."

"It was," she didn't have to think about her answer. It was just a reflex response. Modesty often lead to long complimentary speeches. Plus, she'd sworn to tell the truth.

"There must have been times of tension and frustration. Did you ever feel that the plan to destroy all the horcruxes was failing?"

Memories of her pessimism on the road stung her eyes. "There were some days where I felt that what we were doing was pointless, but we trusted Harry. I never wanted to give up."

"There were no disagreements? No fights?"

Ron. Of course.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Did anybody turn against someone else?"

There was Ron. Ron paving the way for his overwhelming guilt and regret.

"Not exactly."

Hermione's pulse pounded in her ears. She breathed deeply.

"What do you mean by that, Miss Granger?"

"There were... moments of tension, as can be expected, but... we're all still friends. We live together."

"Mister Potter claimed that there were no disagreements during the quest. Was he telling the truth?"

The jury leant forward. Hermione thought back to what the three of them had spoken about before the trials. They'd known that the purpose of this trial was for potential media attention. If she accused Harry of lying, things would go from bad to worse.

"He was telling the truth, Sir."

The jury were calm.

Only for a second.

A man in red robes shuffled along the rows of jurors towards the ex-minister's desk where the judge sat. As he approached, Hermione's heart crashed against her rib cage. He whispered something in the other man's ear that was seemingly surprising.

"Miss Granger..." began the old man again. "... your extracted memories clearly show that Mister Weasley was absent from the quest for several months."

The jury erupted into scandalous whispers and murmurs.

"I... yes, he was, but-"

"You have lied to the jury and broken your oath."

"No, I-"

"Miss Granger, you have committed perjury and that is a crime worthy of a spell in Azkaban."

"NO!" she screamed.

"Members of the Jury, we shall put Miss Granger's sentence to a vote."

"What?! NO! THIS IS MADNESS!" she cried. The locked courtroom door behind her was rattling. Ron, Harry and his parents were out there. They could probably hear.

"MISTER SCURVEY!" roared a man's voice. The jury fell silent. Hermione searched the seats. There was a red-headed man standing up at the back, glaring at the judge. Hermione recognised him immediately as Reginald Cattermole.

"Mister Scurvey, this is barbaric. We can't send a girl to Azkaban for telling a fib. This isn't about ministry betrayal, it's about three teenagers having an argument," Reginald Cattermole glanced briefly at Hermione, as did many other members of the jury. "The dark lord is dead and there are death eaters to defeat. Why are we still here?"

The old man slowly turned purple.

"Members of the Jury..." he seethed. "Those in favour of sentencing Hermione Jean Granger to two years in Azkaban prison for committing perjury?"

No hands were raised.

"Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?"

A forest of hands was erected.

"Cleared."

oOo

_3 hours later..._

"Hermione?" Mrs Weasley tried again.

They'd arrived home after a silent journey back. Mr Weasley had dealt with admin and paperwork. Mrs Weasley had bought her endless cups of tea and Ron had watched her anxiously.

Mrs Weasley sighed. "Ron, why don't you take Hermione upstairs. I imagine she wants to be alone."

Ron nodded and took Hermione's hand. They set off up the stairs quickly before Harry could run after them.

Unbeknown to Ron, Hermione was not in any state of shock whatsoever. Rather, she'd been thinking. A lot.

They reached his room and Ron sat her down. Rain was pounding at Ron's bedroom window.

"You want some water?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Hermione, come on. Speak to me!"

After a silent minute, he sat down on the bed beside her. Ah, his warmth was there again. She wanted to lean into him, but that was not how she wanted this to start. Bless Mrs Weasley for allowing them some time alone...

"I lied to them. I lied during my trial and they were going to arrest me."

Ron bit his lip and put an arm round her. "I know. We could hear it all."

"I was going to spend two years in a prison cell."

"No, you weren't. They weren't ever going to send you away. We would've gone in all-wands blazing if they had."

"I was so scared...I was so stupid!"

Ron quickly kissed her cheek. She turned to him. He was gazing at her with utter adoration. No hint of anger, disappointment or fear.

"You're barmy, 'Mione. I love you, but you're really bloody mental."

That strengthened her resolve. She quickly wiped her tears away and cleared her throat.

"You were right, you know. We do only have one life."

Ron smirked and shrugged. "You can't really fault that fact."

"And... and I wish I could be as brave as you and just... ignore all these little insecurities and-"

"Whoa, Hermione. What insecurities are those?"

She looked at him gravely. Now was not the time. In her eyes, there would never be a proper time. Whenever she _did _feel ready to show him how utterly repulsive her battle wounds were, it would hurt. He'd rip her fears away from her like a band aid. For the time being, she would do all that she could for him.

"They're just silly girl things, Ron."

"Hermione, what-"

"Ronald," she began firmly. He stopped talking. "I've been thinking. There are some things that I'm really not brave enough to tackle yet. Until then, I... I want to start small. I want to ease us into it... if it's okay with you."

He looked lost. "What are you on about?"

She swallowed her nerves. She would show him. He was a tactile being, after all.

Without hesitation, she grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She tossed it on the floor and shook her hair out, feeling incredibly warm under Ron's gobsmacked gaze.

His eyes were glued unashamedly at her chest, clad in a black bra: the only remotely provocative garment she owned. Merlin bless her choice of undergarment this morning.

Hermione was acutely aware that her chest size was nothing compared to that of Lavender Brown or any other female she knew. They existed, though. They were visible. That seemed to suit Ron nicely.

"Hermione... you..."

"Are you alright?"

"Yep."

"Good."

She leaned in and kissed him. No starting slow, no chaste beginning... she kissed him hard and went from there.

She gently pushed him so that his back met the headboard. Her hand that was at his shoulder began to twitch. _This _was madness that she welcomed.

One of his arms cradled her body. The other hand remained at her cheek. This was perfect...

Her hand left his shoulder and trailed lightly and slowly down his chest, down his stomach and made contact with the crotch of his jeans.

His lips left hers. His eyes bulged.

"Hermione! Wh-what are you..."

"It's okay," she said softly. "I want to do this for you. But, if you don't want to, then I can stop..."

"No!" he yelped. He blushed scarlet. "I mean... I mean..."

She smiled shyly and leant back towards him, capturing his lips with hers. He kissed her very enthusiastically.

She moved her hand back to his jeans and experimentally rubbed once. His hips bucked and she smiled against his lips. Maybe this wouldn't be as scary as she'd thought...

She did it again. His hips jerked. She did it again. He moaned. He actually moaned. She'd made him moan.

She tore her lips away from his. He stared down where her hand met his jeans in astonishment. He gulped.

"Are you nervous, Ron?"

"Nope!" he squeaked. "I'm just... er..."

Hermione looked down. He was really, quite obviously aroused. It was amazing. She'd done _that _to a boy. She'd done that to Ron.

She reached down with both hands and unbuckled his belt. This alone made her want to take this further. If only she had any ounce of bravery...

"You don't have to do this, 'Mione,"

She was startled by how low and gravelly his voice was.

"I want to," she said firmly. She held her breath and reached inside his pants.

He squeaked.

"Did that hurt?"

"Nope!"

"Okay..."

She started rubbing him again, knowing she couldn't continue this way. This wasn't how it was done. She'd overheard enough idle gossip and read enough romance novels to know what to do. It was mortifying, but she pulled his jeans and pants down the rest of the way and just... pulled it out.

_It _was a lot different to how she'd imagined. She'd previously found the male anatomy to be terrifying: invasive and inevitably painful. But Ron's penis was... quite pleasurable to look at. What had she said before about starting small?

_For heaven's sake, Granger, stop staring at it... _she told herself. Ron was blushing after all...

She ran her hand down it, back up, back down. Ron started to breath loudly.

"How's that?"

"Bloody brilliant..." he sighed, leaning back. Before his head hit the pillow, his eyes snapped open in mortification. He glanced at her anxiously. She herself was blushing furiously. Romance was nice, but the world of sex was a flattering place to be complimented.

She worked faster. He breathed harder, squeezed his eyes shut tighter and moaned louder. As aroused as she was, she felt rather ridiculous. Was this all there was too it? A few flicks of the wrist? Wasn't there something more... intricate to do?

"'Mione... oh god..." he breathed as his hips began jerking more erratically. His mouth snapped open.

Hermione found herself panting too. There was some urge inside her that she was fighting. Clichés aside, it was animalistic. It reminded that humans, as brilliant as they could be, were simply another species on the planet, with natural urges, instincts and reactions and there was no shame in simply acting on impulse when it came to natural animalistic processes. This logical justification for her sex drive was what lead her to dip her head down, take him in her mouth and suck.

"FUCKING HELL!" Ron roared.

He came undone in a matter of seconds.

When he was finished, Hermione sat up, subtly trying to wipe her mouth. Her cheeks were burning. Ron lay there, eyelids drooping and mouth still hanging open.

"What... the... _fuck?!"_ he gasped, grappling to pull up his jeans.

_Oh, Hermione..._ she thought to herself. _What were you thinking? _

"Sorry..." she mumbled. "I thought..." she trailed off. What had she thought? That he'd be into that? That he was ready for that? That boys liked that sort of thing? _Who are you trying to fool, Hermione?_ She thought to herself. _Like you'd know anything about the inner workings of the male mind..._

Suddenly, Ron reached out and grabbed her hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb.

"Is 'thank you' a bit inappropriate for me to say?" he asked.

"I'm really sorry, Ron, I... I haven't, erm... I didn't..."

"Why the bloody hell are you apologising, you barmy woman?" he sat up properly, cross-legged, as though nothing had happened.

"You looked terrified!" her face burned again. Was there any merit in apparating into a different room right now?

"No, er... I wasn't _terrified_. That was... that was cool. Unexpected, though. Unexpected, but... bloody amazing."

She sucked in her cheeks, hiding a grin. How ridiculous, getting all giddy and proud over an act that was about as romantic as a sneeze.

Ron's own blush returned. He swallowed uncomfortably and looked away from her.

"Oh Ron, was it awful? I'm so sorry, I-"

"No, no, it was brilliant! I just, erm... I can do the same. You know, to you. If you want." he looked just about ready to let the ground swallow him up.

"No!" she said quickly. "Th-that's okay. Erm..." Ron looked hurt. "Definitely at some point, though, obviously..."

Her abilities and making every day phrases sound sex-crazed was unparalleled.

"'kay... you sure?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She smiled softly. "I'm sure. I think we've done quite enough experimenting for one day, don't you?"

"Oh, that was an experiment, was it?"

"Yes. The hypothesis being that I could give my boyfriend an orgasm, the experiment being a hand job and the conclusion being a resounding 'yes'."

They stared blankly at each other: Hermione forcing herself to ignore her uncharacteristically dirty language and Ron hiding his amusement, astonishment and arousal.

He wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and pulled her down to lie beside him on the bed. He kept his arms there and kissed her forehead.

"Feel free to experiment on me whenever you like. I promise I won't grumble."

"Oh, what am empty promise. I can assure you that you'll moan."

Wow. A tentative hand job and created a sexual prowess within Hermione.

They lay in silence, contemplating what happened and reveling in their position in each others' arms. Ron's proposition echoed in Hermione's mind, stirring up an new anxiety. She's opened a can of worms, now.

oOo

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. Christmas + hospital = nope. _

_So yeah, I hope that quenched a few thirsts. I promise that in the next chapter, her insecurities will be addressed. Please no death threats. It's cool if you hated that chapter, but there's really no need for reviews that say "shit." because that's about as helpful as paper bathtub, savvy?_

_Nel X_


	14. Paradise

Yet again, Hermione was up at dawn. Yet again, she was wracked with worry. The trial was over and she was going nowhere near Azkaban any time soon. There were, however, two new worries that foolishly dwarfed the threat of imprisonment. The first was sex.

Hermione stood in the bathroom with her eyes shut tight, re-living yesterday's _experiment _in her mind. Show her dragons, show her basilisks, show her dementors. She could handle those, she was a Gryffindor. Show her Ronald Weasley, her boyfriend of mere weeks, naked from the waist down? _That_ was terrifying. Not in a visual way at all, it was more of a... foreshadowing. Boyfriends and girlfriends had sex. Hermione had previously found the male anatomy to be unappealing and oddly-modelled and a little scary, if one thought of its functions. She had no idea Ron's would be so arousing. Maybe it was a sign that they were biologically made for each other. And then, he'd shyly offered to reciprocate. Hermione groaned in frustration. She was not as naive as perhaps everybody thought. She'd had orgasms before. She could not imagine the pleasure that _Ron's _hands would bring in contrast to her own...

"Ugh!" she growled at herself and shivered out of those thoughts. In a few hours, she'd be stuck in a foreign country alone with him. Either this tension would be resolved, or she'd have no choice but to suppress it. The latter was probably the most logical answer. They were on a mission after all. That was the second worry: her parents.

Wendell and Monica had been living in Australia for a year. They undoubtedly had new jobs, a new home and new friends. Who was Hermione to take them away from that? She'd be killing them. And what would Robert and Jean Granger say when they came back into existence with no memory of the past year, in Australia, with their daughter explaining that she'd won a war against a sadist dark lord?

Robert and Jean Granger were not currently alive on this planet. They were tucked away somewhere in the minds of Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Or in Hermione's wand, she had no idea. Judging from the scrupulous research she'd done, the spell to restore memories was too complex to ever fully comprehend. That scared her. Nobody would ever know enough to be confident that Robert and Jean Granger could return.

Those thoughts were just as scary as the ones about Ron. Determined not to dwell on them any longer, Hermione decided she'd go downstairs and make a start on packing a lunch. She opened her eyes.

Having just had a wash, she was standing in her underwear. Her skin was flawless and even glowing, thanks to the complicated spell she'd cast just minutes before leaving to attend the trial, in fear of any photographers capturing her at an unfortunate moment of her t-shirt riding up or her unthinkingly rolling up her sleeves. It was lucky that she'd cast the spell before removing her top in front of Ron. Now, she was alone. She could assess the damage.

She picked up her wand from the side of the sink and aimed it at her stomach.

"_Explico,"_

The spell rippled out around her torso and down her arms, starting where she'd aimed her wand. The prickly sensation of the concealment charm being lifted was short-lived. Despite her skin feeling lighter and more comfortable now that it was no longer hidden in an unnatural-looking magic disguise, Hermione still felt stung. All over her stomach, chest and arms were the light pink flicks of scarring from the fallen chandelier at Malfoy Manor. On her left forearm, a vile word screamed. On her right side along her ribs, a nasty scald from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault at Gringotts was still red and raw, despite the pain having desisted long ago. And there, just peaking over the top of her knicker-line on her left hip, was the worst scar. She looked away, quick as a flash. She would not think of it until absolutely necessary, and even that might never happen. Despite the slow process, the scars were fading. Maybe she _could_ abstain from going further with Ron until the scars had faded. There was no way she'd cheat Ron in such a way that they'd lose their virginity together with a concealing charm plastered across her body. No way...

Hermione swallowed thickly and pulled her shirt and jeans back on. She left the bathroom and proceeded downstairs, unnerving potential trigger phrases for an adult conversation about sex playing in her mind.

The kitchen was cold and empty, or so she thought. She opened the cupboard closest to her, numbly searching for food that would keep for 24 hours.

"Hermione?"

Hermione stood up and spun round.

"Sleep well, pet?"

Molly Weasley was sat at the dining table with a mug of tea in front of her. She smiled wearily at her, just like she had done hours after the war ended.

"Good morning, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione shakily. She was disappointed in herself that she was alarmed at Mrs Weasley's politeness. She and Hermione had barely spoken a word to each other outside of chores instructions and lying about Ron's whereabouts.

"Is your cup empty? I can make you some more tea," Hermione reached for the kettle.

"That's alright, darling. I'm fine."

"I wasn't stealing any of your food. Ron told me that you said it was okay for us to pack a lunch for when we get to Australia. He said you were fine with it."

"... sit down, dear."

Hermione stared at her, gulped, and pulled out a chair next to her. When she placed her hands on the table, Mrs Weasley immediately reached for one. She patted it fondly. Was she alright?

"I expect you're nervous about seeing your parents again," said Mrs Weasley.

"Very much so," said Hermione quietly. "the magic is complicated and I've never been to Australia."

"Have you booked hotels? Arranged living accommodation?"

"We're taking the tent."

Mrs Weasley frowned a little.

Hermione gulped again. "The tent has two bedrooms, Mrs Weasley."

To her surprise, Mrs Weasley chuckled almost fondly. "Oh, you're both adults now. I've no say in what you do," then, she stared into space, like something was troubling her. "Amazing, really, how quickly a child becomes a grown-up."

She still stroked Hermione's hands in a way that a relative might do if they were saying their last goodbyes to a loved one.

"You know, when Ron was four years old, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said he wanted to be a King," she smiled nostalgically. Hermione smiled too. She'd seen baby photos of her King all around this house. He was a cheeky little thing.

"... and then I asked him who his Queen would be," continued Mrs Weasley. "he said he'd never have one. Girls were sissy and bossy and they grumble all the time," Mrs Weasley grinned. "I told him that all good Kings went home to a Queen at the end of the day. I told him it'd make him a better King. Then he told me that if he ever had a Queen, it would only be because he really, _really _loved her and he couldn't help it. He'd only ever have a Queen if his life depended on it."

When Mrs Weasley looked up, both women had watery eyes.

"Mrs Weasley..." croaked Hermione.

"I don't expect you to understand, because you're not a mother. But one day, you'll be cradling your child whose the size of a loaf of bread and you'll be their world. And then, you'll blink and that baby will be towering over you, doing things _for _you. They'll be stronger than you and they'll crave a bigger life and you'll still give anything to cuddle them to sleep again."

No sooner had a solitary tear reached the corner of her mouth, Mrs Weasley straightened up suddenly and wiped her face clean of tears.

"I would die for my son," she said seriously. "These past few weeks, I haven't been entirely ready to accept that he's become a man yet. Hermione, I took that out on you. I tried to keep you apart. I said bad things about you. I made you feel uncomfortable when you'd done nothing wrong, and you were just what my son needed. I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me."

At that moment, the Burrow woke up for another day. Bedroom doors were flung open and people were bounding down the stairs towards them. In the short seconds they had left alone, Hermione stood up and threw her arms around Mrs Weasley's neck.

"If I can't bring my mother back..."

"Nonsense. You'll be fine," Mrs Weasley patted the girl's back encouragingly before letting her go and diving into making the breakfast as her family gathered around the table.

oOo

It was eight o'clock in the evening. The sky was a pleasant shade of pink. Ron and Hermione were walking hand-in-hand several yards behind Mr Weasley, who lead the way through the woods. They walked in silence, taking in their last moments of being on English soil before they were transported half way across the world.

"Here we are, kids!" called Mr Weasley. "It's right here!"

Ron and Hermione sped up. They joined Mr Weasley beside a something dropped in the leafy woodland bed: a tin mug, which looked to be discarded after a camping trip.

"That's it? That's our portkey?" asked Ron doubtfully.

"Yep!" grinned Mr Weasley at the mundane-looking object. "You sure you want to take this one?"

"We're sure," said Hermione with conviction.

"Because there's a chance it could make you violently ill."

"We know," sighed Ron.

"You've been through worse, I suppose," shrugged Mr Weasley casually. "Well then! I'll see you two in about a week!"

Ron awkwardly shuffled into his father's open arms and endured a long, tight hug. Mr Weasley let him go and embraced Hermione in a friendly way. Hermione adored this man. He could have revealed to the world that he was secretly Father Christmas and nobody would've been surprised.

"Right then!" said Mr Weasley. "Off you go!"

Mr Weasley watched Ron and Hermione tentatively crouch down on the soggy, leafy floor where the tin mug sat. Hermione stuffed her beaded back further into her jeans pocket.

"Ready?" Ron murmured to her. She nodded. Ron took her hand.

"Bye, Dad," said Ron quickly. His father nodded and stepped back.

Hermione placed a hand on the tin mug and in the next moment, they were falling.

oOo

"Ron?" Hermione croaked. She lifted her head. "Ron, are you alright?"

Ron retched and vomited for the fourth time in half an hour. "I'm brilliant," he deadpanned, wiping his mouth. "I feel like I've been punched in the stomach and I'm now in a scorching not country where there are probably flying acromantulas. Hooray."

There was a gentle whooshing sound in front of them. Hermione fell back on her bum and was pleasantly surprised to find that they'd arrived on a beach. Soft sand and a gentle tide. Behind them was a row of pretty shingled houses.

"What about you?" asked Ron. "Stomach settling?"

"I think so. I just don't want to move yet."

"Fine by me."

Ron sat up too and looked around him. He raised his eyebrows in approval. Ron reached deep into her beaded bag and pulled out a bottle of water and a box of tic-tacs. She held them out to him.

"What are those?" Ron asked.

"Mints."

"What d'you bring those for?"

"They help with sickness.

"Oh."

Ron hid his disgust for the foreign taste of mint when he swallowed about eight tic-tacs and guzzled them down with water. While he washed his mouth out, Hermione looked around at the seaside town. It was dawn. A man in a polo shirt and bright shorts was walking his dog further up the beach. Two young boys in diving suits splashed about in the waves. A plump woman in a beige dress walked at an awkward angle, holding the hand of an unstable toddler.

"It's nice here," mused Ron. "There are worse places to end up."

"That's what I'm worried about," Hermione mumbled.

Ron looked at her curiously.

"I'm scared that I'll see them living a happy life and I won't be able to give them their memories back."

"You say it like it's a weakness," said Ron, scooting across the sand to sit beside her.

"It is," she sighed. She leant her head on Ron's shoulder. The breeze was pleasant, but it hinted to a scorching day ahead.

"But," began Ron, sounding confused. "they'll forget about the past year. They'll go back to what they had before. They had you and their jobs and everything..."

"They won't be able to just return to their jobs after a year with no questions asked. All their friends will be angry with them for disappearing, too..." Hermione trailed off. She couldn't let herself think for a second that what she did was selfish.

"They were never really happy," said Hermione wistfully. "Not really. They loved me, of course, but... they always wanted excitement. My mum had a miscarriage when I was six. After that, they decided they wanted to travel and see the world. I suppose I put a stop to that."

After several miserable seconds, Ron placed an impromptu kiss on the top of Hermione's head.

Hermione smiled. "Thanks,"

"Any time."

One day, Hermione would thank him properly. His ability to wash away her bad thoughts was probably a little unhelpful, but she was ever so gracious for it.

They watched dawn break in silence. Occasionally, the sound of a nearby buzzing insect made them both flinch, Ron more so. Hermione giggled each time.

"You know, this is quite romantic," said Ron after a while. "Boyfriend and girlfriend, exotic country, sunrise, quiet beach..."

"Say romantic things to me, then," she grinned, leaning up and kissing his cheek. She lay on her back and grinned at the sky. She couldn't hear his movements in the soft sand, but he flipped his body over and lay on his stomach beside her. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Like what?" he asked.

"I don't know, be spontaneous!"

"I'm not very good at that sort of thing! I'm not a romantic bloke..."

"Of course you are!" she slapped his arm playfully. "If I had a group of girlfriends, I don't think I'd ever shut up about our picnic!"

Ron grinned proudly. She rolled her eyes.

"I'll give you a prompt then," she offered. "When did you start liking me?"

"Liking or loving?"

Hermione shrugged and fought back a huge grin. "Either."

Ron thought for a moment and wrinkled his nose. "I dunno, really."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"No, what I mean is..." Ron started again, capturing her attention once more. "Okay. I remember the moment I started _liking _you really clearly. It was in third year."

Hermione shifted closer to him, intrigued.

"I just remember we were sitting in the great hall doing work and you were reading a book and... I dunno, I just... ugh, I don't want to sound like a tit!"

"You don't sound like a tit!" groaned Hermione. "Now get on with it!"

"Why d'you want to know all this anyway?"

"I'm just curious now get on with the story!"

"Story?!"

"_RON!_"

"Okay! You were reading a book and I just happened to look up and I was going to say something to you but I just kept staring at you because you looked really pretty, and I remember thinking to myself 'Hermione's really pretty in this light'. And then the rest of the day went by and I _kept_ catching myself staring at you because you looked pretty all the time. That's how I got a crush on you."

Hermione remained silent, her expression surely unchanging. His confession, as flattering as it was, was a little angering. Ron looked out around them casually, without tension. He was curious, not anxious.

"I haven't got a bloody clue as to when I actually fell in love with you, but it was pretty early on. Must've been fourth year or something. But I only admitted it to myself when we were at Shell Cottage. I just kind of..." he paused.

"kind of what?" asked Hermione quietly

"... I realised that I'd do anything for you. I would've literally killed for you. And I did."

"Why... didn't you want to admit it to yourself?"

Ron shrugged. "I was certain you'd go after Harry and I knew it would fucking hurt."

Hermione couldn't argue with that. She knew he didn't think it now. She needn't berate his previous views.

"Ron?"

"Mmm?"

"Cuddle me."

Ron laughed. "What? No snogging?"

"We've both just been sick."

"Oh yeah. That would've been grim."

"So come here and let me hug you!"

"What are we, five year old girls?"

"Fine then, don't bother!"

She was joking, of course, and stood up to leave. As she expected, he leapt to his feet and bounded after her. She squealed and sprinted off, knowing Ron was much faster than her. He caught her around the waist within seconds and whirled her around.

"No, Ron, I'll be sick!" she squealed before he put her down. They both groaned as their stomachs settled but he continued to hold her tightly. They were facing the sea and the golden sky. They were breathing heavily and smiling widely. Ron rested his chin on her shoulder

"_This _is romantic," grinned Hermione, leaning back against his shoulder. "Despite the nausea, you utter fool."

"Sorry," he chuckled and placed a kiss on her cheek. "But I wasn't gunna let you get away that lightly."

"You're an arse."

"So you've told me."

They stood there for a long time while families woke up. Tourists too, no doubt. The beach started to slowly grow in population. The few families who walked past them on the sand smiled. What a cute young couple...

"Shall we get going?" asked Ron eventually.

"Where to?"

"To the dentists'."

Hermione chuckled half-heartedly. "I'd love to, but I'm still in danger of throwing up."

She sighed and turned around to face him. She wrapped her arms around his face and mirrored his sleepy smile. "We should get the tent set up. Over there, though," she pointed to the back of the beach by a wave barrier. "I don't want us to get washed away in our sleep."

"Good plan," Ron agreed. "But I don't feel sick anymore so I'll set it all up. You can just stand there looking gorgeous."

Hermione laughed loudly. "I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing you flirt with me, Ronald."

"Well you'd better start getting used to it 'cause I'll never stop..."

His grin faded as soon as he'd heard himself speak.

That brought a pleasant tension between them. They'd both avoided talking about the future of their relationship so far. Hermione had been too busy thinking about the immediate future, that she'd completely forgotten about all those nights at Hogwarts in which she used to lie awake, picturing Ron's proposal. She'd look around the dorm and wager which bed their daughter would sleep in. It was entirely possible, now that Voldemort was dead, that any of those things could become reality.

They walked to the back of the beach. Hermione quickly did the enchantments around their little patch of sand before Ron set the tent up. They kept laughing whenever Hermione _did _find herself simply standing there and Ron grinned at her.

"Nice work," complimented Hermione, impressed at Ron's handiwork. The tent had been magically modified to be smaller and waterproof by Hermione, whose knowledge of muggle trends was not exactly extensive, but she was smart enough to know that a large gauze tent in the middle of an Australian beach would cause a bit of suspicion if their enchantments wore off or were done incorrectly.

It was the size of a two-man camping tent, i.e. much smaller than they were used to. They had to crawl in through the narrow entrance. Hermione was nervous about seeing Ron's reaction to her modifications: she had equipped the tent with a stove, a small bathroom unit and one double bed.

"This is... cosy," commented Ron, looking around.

"It was too small for another bed," said Hermione quickly. "But I could transfigure the bath if you wanted-"

"No, no, that's.. fine."

"If it's going to make things uncomfortable, then-"

"It won't."

"Okay."

They lingered awkwardly in the small space. Hermione felt like an idiot. She could've brought the tent they'd spent the last year sleeping in, but that was probably a bad idea. She could've brought Mr Weasley's tent from the Quidditch world cup, but Mr Weasley had spent hundreds of galleons on it. It was a prize possession and she was not financially capable of replacing it if she returned it damaged.

Whilst she'd been fretting, she hadn't noticed that Ron was walking around the tent, closely inspecting each and every item of furniture.

"Ron, what are you doing?"

"Nothing!" he said quickly, though he carried on. She eyed him suspiciously as he dashed into the bathroom and crouched on the floor. He lifted the toilet lid and peered in.

"The toilet's not a horcrux, Ron. What on earth are you playing at?"

"Just... checking."

"For what?"

He left the toilet and peered round the leg of the basin.

Hermione twigged. "Oh! Oh, Ron, there's really no need. I've cast the enchantments! Nothing can come within six feet of this tent. Not even spiders."

Ron sat up again, giving her a severe look. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she sighed.

Ron looked back to the basin as though he'd previously been possessed and was awoken from his spell. He stood up suddenly and blushed.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome."

He looked at her through his lashes and smiled gratefully. She might've rushed over to him and snogged him senseless for the sake of his being adorable, had she not been sick minutes earlier.

"Do you mind if I use the bathroom?" she asked on that thought.

"Oh, er, not at all!" he stumbled awkwardly, squeezing back through the curtain into the main area of the tent. Hermione dashed into the tiny bathroom and yanked the curtain closed behind her.

She took a deep breath.

Alone, with Ron, with one bed.

She was sharing a bedroom with her boyfriend, whom she'd given a hand job days ago.

Surely she could do it again. Merlin knew she received more pleasure in watching him orgasm than having one herself.

She pulled out her bathroom bag from the beaded one and started brushing her teeth furiously. She scrubbed her face with a flannel frowned at her reflection in the mirror. They'd been in Australia for about an hour and already, her sun-induced freckles were starting to show.

She pulled the curtain open, satisfied that she was not going to get any uglier. Ron was there already.

"Hello..." she said stupidly, dazed by how close he suddenly was. He'd obviously been wandering around the tent. There was no way he'd be inches in front of her that quickly if he'd been sitting or lying down.

"Can I kiss you yet?" he asked eagerly.

"I don't know, can you?"

Ron began to smirk, but her retort didn't seem to register with him. He looked baffled as he tried to solve her riddle.

"Ron," she giggled, rolling her eyes. "just kiss me."

He seemed so grateful for such simple words. He slid his hands around her waist as though she were his most prized possession and kissed her sweetly on the lips.

"I love you," he grinned when he pulled back.

"I love you, too," she replied confidently. "I really do."

She felt her heart swell up like a balloon at how proud he looked.

"I love you," he whispered again, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you."

"You sound like a broken record," she giggled, leaning back and then kissing him on the forehead.

"Don't you ever get that, though?" he asked curiously. "You know, when there's a moment when it physically hurts if you don't say it? You just have to say it!"

She stared at him, bemused. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do get that."

She placed a lingering kiss on his lips. "I love you."

"We should probably do something productive," he chuckled.

"Sure," she grinned. "I think I'm ready to find the Wilkins's now."

"You sure?" he asked seriously. "You're feeling better, yeah?"

"Much," she smiled again. "Come on. Who knows, maybe I'll have parents by the end of today."

oOo

_A/N: I promise I was going to address the scars issue, but the chapter would've been SO BLOODY LONG so it's going to be in the next chapter. Promise!_

_As for reviews, thank you very much for them! Keep 'em coming!_

_I go back to school on Monday, where our internet usage is limited. Updates might be scarce, but do keep checking._

_Nel X_

_P.S. Do please follow me on Tumblr. The link's in my profile page._


	15. Yellow

By the time they'd arrived at the dental surgery in town, Ron and Hermione were grateful for Molly Weasley's advice that they wear shorts and t-shirts upon their arrival in Australia. It was sweltering. Not only was it too hot and sticky to put an arm round each other or even hold hands in a dignified way, but the local residents kept chuckling at them, the obvious tourists. Ron kept scowling at people who looked to be as cool as cucumber. It was a little embarrassing, but Hermione laughed anyway.

Hermione bought two cokes at a petrol station in the middle of town. It was Ron's first muggle beverage. She could tell that he found the dark brown colour a little off-putting but it was too hot to be fuzzy. He guzzled the thing down instantly and seemed quite fond of the drink.

The dental surgery was set back in a rural-looking lane on the outskirts at the other end of town. It was big and airy, with a friendly young receptionist and a waiting room well-stocked with reading material. Hermione muttered her name to the receptionist, who looked a little perplexed when Hermione explained that she'd booked a check-up over a year ago.

The waiting room had leather sofas, which was sticky and irritating. They sat in silence with an old woman sitting in the corner, seemingly impatient to see her dentist. She was grumpily flicking through a periodical on dental hygiene. Hermione doubted she was even reading it.

"Are you alright?" asked Ron in a hushed tone. Hermione smiled at him and nodded. His face was bright red from the sun.

"Are you?" she asked, automatically reaching up and brushing a stray strand of ginger hair out of his eye.

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I dunno, are you worried? Scared?"

Hermione laughed. "Scared of what?"

"I dunno, anything!"

Hermione smiled fondly at him. "I'm not scared. Are you going to be alright in here by yourself?"

Ron looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the ancient old woman in the corner, and he scoffed. "I reckon I'll be alright."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What if a huntsman spider comes in?"

Ron's smug smirk faded instantly. "A what?"

The waiting room door creaked open. "Hermione Granger?" called a young woman. Hermione leapt to her feet, grinning madly. The young woman looked rather confused by her reaction.

"Hermione, what's a huntsman spider?"

"I'll be right back," she beamed at him, practically skipping after the young assistant. She heard Ron whimpering about spiders as she made her way down the hall. They past a couple of other dentists' surgeries, whose doors were shut. Hermione wondered if Monica Wilkins was behind any of them, fantasising about what life could've been like if she'd had a child.

They turned into the room at the very bottom on the left and Hermione's stomach lurched. The room was huge and bright; a far cry from her father's cramped, cold surgery back in London. His back was turned to them.

"Here's Miss Granger, Sir," said the young woman, gesturing for Hermione to sit in the dentists' chair. Wendell Wilkins turned around.

Hermione heard her heart beat once, very loudly, as Dr Wilkins turned and grinned at her.

"Hi there! "

He sounded Australian.

"New to the area?" he asked, still grinning.

Hermione couldn't believe it.

"Uh... yeah," she breathed, not recognising herself. She swallowed thickly. "Yes, I moved here last month."

"Ah, a fellow Briton! Take a seat!"

Hermione numbly slid into the dentists' chair and caught her breath as it whirred downwards. In the next moment, Dr Wilkins was staring down at her with his instruments in hand. With a spare finger, he pulled the light above her head down to shine into her mouth. She opened up.

While he scouted around in her mouth and uttered numbers and letters to his assistant, Hermione began to shake. Her father knew the ins and outs of her mouth like the back of his hand. She madly hoped that this examination would be enough to trigger his memories to come flooding back. He'd stare at her, open-mouthed, for a long time before breaking down and crying, grasping for a cuddle. He'd call his wife in and she'd take one look at her small family and burst into tears.

"Any problems recently? Toothache? Bleeding gums?"

"...no," said Hermione quietly.

"Here, you're shaking! No need for that! Not a fan of the dentist, are we?"

Hermione laughed weakly. "It's nothing like that," she said when he removed the instruments. She glanced around the surgery while he checked something on the computer screen. Framed on the wall were close-up shots of lions and zebras. In one of the pictures was Dr Wilkins, giving a thumbs up with a flock of antelope in the background.

"Did you go on holiday?" asked Hermione, not meaning to sound so accusatory.

"Yeah. The wife and I went on an African safari a few months back."

"You... did?"

"Yep. Brilliant stuff. Couldn't recommend it enough. Now, open wide again for me."

As he examined her mouth again, Hermione's head spun with terrible thoughts. Dr Wilkins was not her father. Not in the slightest. She had adored her father, but he was a solemn man. He was frugal and sensible. He argued with his uptight wife. Their job depressed them both.

"Everything looks fine! Perfect set of pearly whites, there!"

Hermione closed her mouth as the chair hoisted her up again. "Thank you," she said.

"Brooke, what's the time?"

"Three-thirty, Sir."

"Ah!" he gasped, his hands running through his thin hair.

"Something wrong?" asked Hermione unthinkingly.

Dr Wilkins grinned madly. "Not at all. In two hours, I'll officially be a Dad."

Hermione's heart plummeted.

"Excuse me?"

Brooke, the assistant, was beaming at her boss from behind him. He looked so happy... he hadn't looked that happy in years.

"The wife and I are adopting a boy. Lovely lad, ten years old. Such a funny thing... we're taking him home later on!"

Hermione suddenly felt very fragile, as though her bones were hollow. She could collapse to the floor any second and she'd shatter.

"Thank you for seeing me..." she breathed before swerving out the door.

The walls of the hall swayed. She wasn't dizzy. She shuffled numbly into the waiting room where she found Ron sitting on the sofa, hugging his knees.

"Hermione, please tell me what a... 'Mione?"

"We have to go."

"'Mione, what's-"

"_Now._"

She grabbed his hand and dragged him across the hall, through reception and out into the deserted road. She ignored his spluttered questions. She didn't let go of his wrist for ages until he finally tugged free.

"Hermione," he said firmly, leaping in front of her and grabbing her shoulders. He stared at her seriously, his blue eyes looking so wonderfully refreshing amid this dry, suffocating place. "Where are your parents?"

The heat added to her stinging eyes.

"Getting into their car, ready to collect their son."

She was met with a silence that let reality echo around her.

Helpless. Completely and utterly helpless.

"Let's go home," she said suddenly, grabbing his hand.

"What?"

"To the tent, I mean. Come on!"

She turned on the spot and began marching him up the hill. Ron said nothing.

Perhaps she wanted him to stop her. Perhaps she needed him to slap her into some sense. She needed _something._ She needed adrenaline, or a shock.

"Hermione, are you okay?" he asked dumbly.

"I'm fine! I'm happy!"

"Are you?" he murmured.

She was dragging him down the main boulevard of town, receiving some strange looks from muggle pedestrians.

She needed to be woken up. This nightmare had been going on for too long.

"You don't seem fine, 'Mione. Just stop a minute."

"I'm telling you, Ron, I'm perfectly fine!"

Voldemort. Ron. The Wilkins'. Ron. Fred, Dumbledore, Sirius, Snape. Azkaban. Ron. Her own skin. Ron's reaction to her skin. Ron.

They reached the beach. People were packing up their beach balls and sun mats, ready to go . It was all around her, but it would never touch her. She laughed.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" he asked again as their feet sank into the hot dry sand with each frantic step.

"I'm not doing anything! I just want to go home."

"What do you _mean_?"

"For Merlin's sake, Ron, I just want to turn in for the night! Is that too much to ask?"

"It's five in the afternoon!"

"I DON'T CARE!"

She stopped. Ron halted and stared at her in alarm. She was staring at the ground, wide-eyed in deep, horrific thought.

"'Mione..." he said with a shaking voice. "You're scaring me."

Her head snapped up. He honestly looked petrified, as though a gun had been fired and he was waiting to see if she'd fall.

She'd scared him. Ron, the only person who loved her now, was scared of her.

Tears welled in her eyes.

"What have I done?" she squeaked. Ron looked even more frightened.

He yelled her name when she collapsed to the sandy floor.

"'Mione, what's wrong? Are you okay? Should... should I get someone?"

One sob shook her body.

Ron ran a hand through his hair and looked around the beach desperately. "Come on, Hermione. What do I do? What do you need?"

Normality. A family. A home. Ron.

"Please can we just go back to the tent?" she whimpered. "I need to show you something."

Ron contorted his face into an entirely unbelievable expression of calm. "Sure," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. He lifted her up and her legs shook as she straightened, her brittle bones and knobbly knees reminding her of a newborn giraffe.

She stumbled into the tent with Ron's arm around her waist and his eyes fixed on her wet face. He tried to guide her to the bed.

"No, Ron."

"Lie down, it's fine. I'll get you a drink."

"No. _You _sit down. I told you I have something to show you."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but she was already crying. Slowly, he sank down to sit on the bed, facing her.

Hermione's heart was beating so hard that it hurt. Perhaps she did need a doctor...

"We're together, you and me. Right?"

Ron smiled half-heartedly. "Right..."

"And that means no secrets... right?"

Ron looked apprehensive and gulped. "Yeah..."

Hermione took a deep breath. Only the possibility of a full, happy, physical relationship with Ron was strong enough to persuade her to do what she had to.

In any other circumstance, she might've laughed as Ron's eyed bulged when she fiddled with the button of her shorts. She pushed them down and let them pool at her ankles.

"Hermione, I-"

"Shh..."

She reached for the hem of her t-shirt and quickly pulled it up over her head. Her eyes remained shut for much longer than necessary. Blind, she tossed her t-shirt on the floor. She braced herself and opened her eyes.

Ron's eyes raked over her body. He gulped again. For one mad second, his gobsmacked expression left her almost flattered... until she saw the exact moment when he saw the worst one. He knew about her arm. He might've guessed about her torso... nobody knew about her hip.

"When I did... _that..._to you, in your bedroom the other day..." she sniffed and fought back more tears. "I'd cast a charm on myself so that none of it would show."

Ron's jaw had been locked since he'd seen it. He pried his mouth open. "Greyback?" he croaked.

"Bellatrix," she replied.

She looked down for the first time in days. On her left hip was a dreadful set of four deep red claw marks, from where Bellatrix Lestrange had gouged at her skin from the top of her hip to the top of her thigh. The scar disappeared into her knickers.

"I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "But I had to show you sooner rather than later. I wouldn't have been able to... to..."

Her words were cut off when Ron stood up.

He looked strangely brave. In one swift movement, he pulled his own t-shirt off of his body. He turned and flashed her the flinch scar on his left arm.

"This one's never going away," he told her, looking down at it. He shrugged. "It sucks."

Hermione wiped her face with her hand. He smiled half-heartedly at her.

"I know what you're thinking," he said seriously. "That I'm not gunna, er... find you attractive anymore," he swallowed thickly. "I know, 'cos that's what I thought when I got all these scratches and bruises and _this _bloody thing..."

He looked up at her. His eyes were glistening. Oh, she wanted to run to him...

"I've told you before that I think you're gorgeous. I still do, but I didn't fall in love with your body. I reckon that was just a lucky bonus."

It did not pass her by that she did not feel self-conscious any more. In a way, she was oblivious to the fact that Ron was looking at her in her underwear.

"What a cheery way to bring _that _inevitable topic up, eh?" he smirked. A tear fell from his eyes. "Oh Merlin," he choked, quickly wiping the tear away. "Not cool."

She let out a weak laugh.

Ron shrugged. "I still love you, 'Mi. Can't see that I'll ever stop, to be honest."

That was it.

She lunged for him and he caught her. She wrapped herself around him and cried loudly. He lowered her onto their bed and dragged the duvet up around them. In the cool evening air, being half-naked was quite cold.

He kept his arm around her waist and his face buried in her hair. She cried and cried, while he remained silent. Eventually, when Ron hugged her closer to him, she flipped over to face him. He smiled warmly. She was no longer despairing, at least.

"I'm sorry," she croaked. "I didn't mean to scare you. You must think I'm mental."

"Yup."

She looked up at him. He chuckled.

"And I've still got the emotional range of a teaspoon."

oOo

_A.N- Yeah, sorry for taking so long. Dramas and stuff, you know?_

_Nel X_

_P.S. Do please follow me on tumblr. The link is on my profile page. As is my new Twitter account._


	16. A Penny At A Time

_WARNING: I BECAME A SMUT SLUT._

_oOo_

Hermione's emotions the morning after a revealing day with Ron could only be described as something very close to post-coital.

The sheets were warm with the Australian sun and the body heat of two people, still lingering after one body had left the bed. She rolled over and stretched, hearing Ron pattering around the tent, doing something. She opened her eyes. It was annoyingly bright.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

She rolled lazily back over and found Ron crouched in front of the wood burner in his pajama bottoms, pointing his wand towards the pan of water that was boiling there.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep and an evening of crying.

Suddenly aware that she was half naked, she whipped her arms out from under the covers and clamped them to her torso.

"Boiling water. You know, for tea."

"Why don't you just use the heating charm?"

"I forgot it."

Hermione chuckled and let her eyelids fall half-closed, still allowing her a sneaky view of Ron's bare torso. For a brief moment, she felt nothing but giddy bliss. It was warm and quiet, Ron was half naked and the bed was so, so comfortable...

"What's the plan for today, then?" asked Ron, carefully directing the pan to tip into the two tin mugs on the floor.

Hermione's heart sank. Memories of yesterday's crushing revelations and hysterical breakdowns made her flip back over and hug the duvet impossibly close around her. Facing the day did not seem so appealing all of a sudden.

"Oi," said Ron. "I made you tea."

Hermione sniffed. "Thank you."

"Hermione, you okay?"

"I'm..." she heard her voice threaten to betray her, so she took a moment to breathe.

"Hey, don't cry!" said Ron hurriedly, dumping the tea on the floor and jumping onto the bed behind her. "Look, we can... we can deal with this. We'll figure it out."

"I'm not crying," she said sadly. She slowly rolled over to see him hovering over her, showing loving concern while still maintaining a little nervousness over the suggestive subtext of their situation: in bed together, half naked.

She suddenly found herself blushing and smiling a little. "Thank you, Ron."

He shrugged. "What for?"

She shrugged.

She unclamped one of her arms from her side and hooked her hand round his neck. She had just enough time to see him grin before lowering his body to kiss her. It lasted all of two seconds.

It was a couple's kiss. It was a married kiss. When they broke apart, they saw reflected in each other's eyes exactly what they had both been thinking: that kiss had been a significant event in their timeline. It was their first morning kiss, and it was many things. Loving, comforting and undeniably cute.

There was still the underlying threat of their bubble being burst. Hermione just wasn't ready to think about Hogwarts just yet.

Ron enclosed his hand around hers at her hip. "I wish we could stay here all day."

Hermione looked away, suddenly saddened again. "I don't see why we can't."

"Hermione, you've got parents to get back."

She grimaced. "I still need time to think about that."

Ron sat back up suddenly. He kept his hand on hers, but his movement to an alarmed position made it clear that he only maintained hand contact out of forced affection, rather than subconscious normality.

"What are you on about?" he asked. "Hermione, you can still get them back. I know they look happy, but you don't have to wrench them from their lives just yet."

"I know," said Hermione suddenly. "But they're so _happy. _They've done things they'd never dreamed of before. I can't take them away from that."

"You don't have to!"

"I'd be bursting their bubble, though, wouldn't I? They're adopting a child, Ron. They're becoming parents in paradise... and then I come in and suddenly they've got a miserable war veteran as their daughter who'd erased 18 years worth of memories."

Ron stumbled over an answer. "You're... you're not miserable."

Hermione smiled warmly. "No, I'm not. But compared to the rest of their perfect life, I am."

Ron's shoulders sagged. "You're talking like they're going to instantly hate you when they get their memories back."

Hermione shrugged. "They'll be angry and upset."

Ron pondered this, but for a very short time. He suddenly twisted round and bent over the side of the bed. When he came back up rather ungracefully, he was holding two mugs.

"Tea?"

Hermione laughed loudly. "We'd just reached a poignant moment in our conversation there, Ronald, and you interrupt with tea!"

"It's never not time for tea, Hermione. I learnt that from you."

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Give me the sodding tea, then."

"Yes, majesty!"

He held the steaming cup aloft her and she wriggled to a half-sitting position. She continued to sip her tea after he gulped his down and slipped back under the duvet. He snuggled closer to her and threw an arm around her waist.

"Tired, are we?" she queried.

"Not really."

With her free hand, she began stroking his hair.

"Thank you for the tea," she smiled, though he couldn't see her. His eyes were closed as he nuzzled his duvet.

"S'alright," he mumbled. "You were zonked. I was trying to be cute."

"You're very cute."

"Too cute?"

"Hmmm... no, I think you're safe. You're cuteness comes and goes."

Ron smirked and opened one eye. "My cuteness comes and goes?"

"It comes and goes, yes."

"So my cuteness just came?"

Hermione stifled a snorting laugh. "You're ruining it, Ronald."

"I love you more than chocolate frogs."

"Ah, there it is."

Hermione's grin was embarrassingly broad. She loved these moments; when she was suddenly hit with the overpowering awareness that she was in love.

She gently pushed his shoulder so that he was lying on his back. He was confused for a moment, too lazy to protest, but became eager when she slid down onto his chest and kissed him.

His hands found her waist immediately. Hermione felt almost sexy.

He soon pushed her over and rolled with her, pressing her into the mattress. She threw her arms around his neck and in the next moment, they were kissing passionately.

It had been a while since they'd done this. Chaste kisses were sweet enough, but they'd neglected the privacy of a different continent.

Just like that, Hermione's hormones clicked into place. They would not be satisfied any other way...

"Ron..." she mumbled against his lips.

"Mmm..."

"I want to do something..."

oOo

His body automatically became rigid with arousal and nervousness.

He remembered the bloody magnificent orgasm she'd given him with her hands, and then ultimately her mouth, back at the Burrow. Merlin's beard, she was talented...

They'd talked about sex yesterday, if a little vaguely. Maybe that had triggered her into wanton?

She attempted to trail kisses down his bare chest, but ended up looking a little awkward. She hadn't exactly practised seductively slinking down a man's body, or so he hoped. She looked a little embarrassed, her arse wiggling as she shimmied down awkwardly. It was still not lost to Ron that he'd dreamed of this ever since he'd hit puberty. Now he was here, in their underwear, in a huge bed, with Hermione's hands at the waistband of him pajama bottoms.

"_Hermione_!" he squeaked.

She looked up in alarm, her face hovering just above the bulge in his trousers.

"Er... Erm, what, er, what are you doing?"

She smiled, still blushing. "We've done this before, haven't we? It wasn't exactly a disaster..."

"So this isn't... _it._"

"No!" she exclaimed, before blushing an even deeper shade of scarlet. "I mean, er... not yet. Not today."

Ron nodded, feeling a tad relieved. "Thank god... I mean, obviously I... I mean, if you wanted to, I wouldn't be opposed, but I th-_ahh..."_

Hermione slid her hand down his trousers. She bit her lip, stifling a giggle.

Verbal diarrhoea with a hard-on. Ron made a mental note to remember that one. It made Hermione impatient.

Her hands were so bloody soft. They fumbled and fondled, no objective but still feeling fucking good.

He felt her remove her hand. He raised his head to politely object, only to see her grappling with the waistband of his trousers. Dazed into submission, he lifted his hips and she grinned as she pulled his trousers off.

Every second that passed in which her hands were not around him, he grew harder and harder. She slowly tossed his trousers into the corner of the tent.

"I'm feeling much more confident about this," she sighed happily. "I feel much braver. More daring."

"D... daring?" Ron choked.

He could tell Hermione still felt a little awkward in the world of sexual discovery. Never the less, her smile was as seductive as he'd ever seen on her face.

He was not going to last.

"Relax, Ron. We're a couple. We should be totally relaxed around each other!"

Ron was vaguely aware of the hypocrisy in her statement, but gathered that she was high on a new-found self-confidence to really understand. Plus, he was entirely at her mercy.

"You're killing me, Hermione."

Hermione went quiet. She looked down at his cock and took a deep breath, and moved her head down towards it.

"FUCK!"

It was shaming, really, how loud he was moaning and panting. But there was no way he could suppress how fucking turned on he was, and how amazing her hot and wet mouth felt, sucking and sucking...

He felt a little perverted, lying there while she worked him. His attempts to appear more tender by stroking her hair did not have the desired effect. His hand on her head merely made him more aware that Hermione Granger was sucking him off.

He was finished in fifty seconds.

Amid his feelings of spent bliss, there was mortification and still more nervousness. Hermione remained knelt between his legs, wiping her mouth and watching him carefully. There was surely, now, no doubt in her mind about how very little stamina Ron had. He could practically feel her expectations of sex with him sink to the floor.

He was nervous, because he owed her.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really sorry."

"What for?" she asked, bemused.

He gulped. "That was brilliant. A bit too brilliant."

Her smile faded.

"I should've lasted longer," he said quickly.

She smiled again and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. To be honest, I find the whole thing rather flattering."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Why wouldn't I?"

"It's a man thing."

"_A man thing_?" she was smirking in amusement.

"Yeah, a man thing!"

"...well, explain it then!"

Ron sighed in exasperation. "I dunno, Hermione, it's like... not lasting very long makes men feel wimpy."

"Why?"

"'Cos if I can't last during a bloody blow job, what the hell am I gunna be like when we have sex?!"

_Presumptuous. _He'd heard her use that word before. It sure hung in the air now. He looked at her nervously, expecting a feminist lecture from her. Instead, she smiled sadly at him and crawled over, curling herself into his side. She held his hand as his arm wrapped around her.

"It really doesn't matter, Ron. Please don't be embarrassed."

"Forget I mentioned the 'S' word. We don't have to do that. I'll still love you."

She grinned. "I know you will. But I _want _to have sex."

Ron's heart jolted.

"Not right now, though. At the Burrow. In your bed. If that's okay with you."

He was fucking relieved, but still shook slightly. "That's cool. But why, though? I thought you'd want... privacy."

Hermione shrugged and hugged him closer. "I love your room."

"Yeah, but aren't you worried about people hearing us?"

He sounded like a twat. A presumptuous twat. Who was he to assume that he'd ever be able to make her omit the noises that she made him produce? His felt his ears burning as Hermione laughed. Fucks sake...

"We can cast an enchantment, Ron. Don't worry. I just... I'd prefer to do it somewhere where we both feel at home."

Ron thought about that as she rested her chin on his chest. He would never say something so pathetic as the fact that he felt at home whenever he was with her. Some things were just meant to be kept secret. Besides, she'd probably know by now.

"I still can't believe I lasted about 2 seconds..."

"Ugh!" Hermione rolled her eyes and poked him in the ribs. "Don't exaggerate, Ronald, and give it a rest! I'd probably be the same!"

Painful silence.

Neither was looking at the other, but both Ron and Hermione lay with wide eyes and burning cheeks.

Ron took a deep breath. "We'll see about that, shall we?"

"Excuse me?" she squeaked.

He sat up and kissed her quickly on the lips.

"I told you I'd reciprocate, didn't I?"

She audibly whimpered.

He chuckled as he sat up. "Relax, Hermione. _We should be relaxed around each other_!" he mocked her from earlier. She grimaced.

"I hate myself..." she grumbled.

"Love you!" he tried to sound jovial, but it was lost in his shaking voice. Trembling, he shuffled over to sit in between her legs.

"You should probably take your bra off, too."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Why, does that help?"

He shrugged. "No, I've just never seen your boobs. I was just joking."

"_Really_?! Never?"

"Never ever. But I was joking, Hermione. Calm it."

She sat bolt upright and reached behind her back.

"Er, Hermione, I was..."

The straps fell to her sides. She shrugged out of her bra and threw it away. "There!" she smiled. "They're all yours."

He lunged and attacked her lips, pressing her back down into the bed. He grew hard as soon as his hands made contact with her tits. They were warm and soft. She groaned and arched up towards him.

Her thighs writhed against his hips. As soon as she ground against him, he knew he'd put it off for too long.

He pulled away. "Nice tits," he grinned, hoping to lighten the mood. She smiled half-heartedly, breathing shakily.

He sat back up, coming to kneel between her legs as she'd done with him.

She stared up at the ceiling of the tent, almost crying with embarrassment.

"Hermione..."

She looked at him.

"I don't have to do this, but I want to."

She gulped nervously. "You can... you can carry on! Don't mind!"

He smiled, a little amused. "You're cute when you're embarrassed."

She looked at him pleadingly. "Not embarrassed. Scared."

"Scared of what?"

She didn't reply. She looked up at the ceiling again and bit her lip.

He looked down between her hips, where a patch of dampness had formed on her white underwear. _Fuck it. _If she was that turned on, nothing he could do could be that bad.

He reached out and, with a trembling hand, stroked her slowly from the waistband of her knickers down to the mattress.

She whimpered.

He did it again, feeling how hot she was becoming. She whimpered again, both hands grasping the sheets.

He blinked several times.

"Was that... okay?"

"Keep going!" she squeaked.

He almost laughed in astonishment.

He began to rub. She panted and ground her hips into his palm. As soon as his administrations became circular, she started to moan.

Fuck...

"Ugh... Ron..." she breathed, reaching down and grabbing his hand. She pressed his palm harder in to her. "I've never... _ahh_!"

Ron guessed she wouldn't object to losing the fabric barrier between his hand and her... well...

His hand left her. Knowing what he was doing, she eagerly lifted her hips. He quickly slid her knickers down her legs and threw them to join his pajama bottoms.

Both naked, both incredibly aroused.

Female genitals. Compared to mens', they looked really fucking complex...

Ron didn't test the water this time. He pressed hard and rubbed faster.

"Ron!" she cried as her hips started writhing rhythmically.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice sounding very different. Thicker... lower...

"You're... so good... at this!"

He slipped a finger downwards. Inside.

"Oh my god!" she squeaked.

"Fuck..." he breathed, not meaning to say it aloud.

He pumped. He'd done this before, but this was scarier. Now, making Hermione feel good was everything.

"Oh, RON!" she cried. "I want... I need..."

"What? What do you want?"

"I want..."

"Tell me!"

She merely continued mewling and moaning. Ron couldn't complain.

Then, he got it. He still owed her.

Thoughts of her tongue on his dick spurred him to slide back and dip his head down. First stroke of his tongue, she was screaming. With every repeat of that gesture, he felt his ego expand just a little bit more.

_I'm giving oral to a naked Hermione Granger._

Then, just as she'd predicted, like the genius witch that she was, she reached a crescendo and came after what she would later perceive to be a humiliatingly short amount of time.

oOo

_A/N: Well then. Review. _

_Please follow me on Tumblr and Twitter. The links are in my profile page. _

_Nel X_


	17. Soldier On

_A/N: Hello friends, sorry it took so fucking long. I was busy with other things. _

By the way that the more 'knowing' pedestrians of the seaside town were looking at them as they walked along the pavement, hand in hand, they might as well have had sex earlier that morning. That was what they looked like. Post-coital.

"Stop smiling," Hermione hissed to Ron. "People are staring."

"Let them stare. I'm happy."

"They think we've..!"

"They think we've _what_, Hermione?" he smirked. She scowled and did not reply. They walked on through the town in silence, peering in shops and dodging fast-paced walkers. Ron kept his eyes on his girlfriend, who was trying ever so hard to look grumpy. Not long later, she caught his eye and her grin escaped.

"See? Even _you're _pleased as punch!" he teased.

She rolled her eyes.

"And you know why?" he continued. He leaned in to whisper into her ear, his arm snaking round her hips. "I gave you an org-"

She elbowed him in the ribs, making him wince in pain.

"Keep your voice down, _Romeo_! I feel uncomfortable enough as it is without you drawing attention to the fact that we explored the boundaries of our relationship this morning."

Ron laughed loudly. She grimaced.

"Hermione, this isn't the 1800's. People aren't ashamed of sex anymore!

"We didn't even _have_ sex!"

"If anything, people are proud of it!"

"Only arrogant losers, Ronald," she sighed.

He shrugged. Being an arrogant loser was brilliant. He hadn't felt this content in years.

She lead him into a quiet cafe in the middle of a row of narrow terraced shops. It was just as calm in here as the ocean's tide was out there. None of the morning's customers were under seventy years old, and they kept up enough quiet chatter for Ron and Hermione's conversation to be private in the corner of the cafe. Hermione left Ron alone at the window seat while she ordered breakfast.

He was still grinning, which was embarrassing. He hid his face in his hand and pretended to rub his stubble which was disconcertingly prominent, having not shaved since leaving England.

"Here," said Hermione, arriving and placing a red plastic tray of two steel pots of tea on the table. "They'll bring over breakfast in a second. It's pancakes. I thought you might fancy some, seeing as we missed Pancake Day this year..."

"Did my stubble annoy you earlier?"

"...sorry?"

"Here's your pancakes..." droned a female voice. They both jumped in alarm. A plump, miserable-looking woman slouched beside their table holding two plates piled with soggy pancakes. She dumped them on the table and waddled away.

"These look... nice," Hermione commented.

"I haven't shaved in a couple of days," continued Ron. "And, you know, after this morning..."

Hermione looked down at her plate and smiled inwardly to herself. "It wasn't a problem."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

Ron stared at her as she looked up at him. Self-consciously, but undeniable sexily, she winked.

Ron nearly moaned.

"You know..." he began, before clearing his throat. "You know, I believe I still owe you."

Hermione picked up her knife and fork and began to cut up her congealed pancakes. "Owe me what?" she asked innocently.

Ron raised an eyebrow at her.

She smirked. "Please don't be cryptic, Ronald. I cannot help you nor understand you unless you're clear."

Ron huffed. Two could play at that game.

"I OWE YOU AN ORGASM, HERMIONE GRANGER." he said loudly.

Two waitresses' jaws dropped as they gawped at Ron and Hermione, whose face was the colour of beetroot.

Ron grinned smugly at her. "Was that clear enough?"

"You're an arse, Ronald Weasley..." she whispered.

"And you're in love with me, so I'm not allowed to change."

"I may be in love with you, but I can withhold sexual activities until you learn to behave."

Ron gaped at her. "So you're saying that in this relationship, I have to _behave myself_ in order to be rewarded with orgasms? Is that how it works?"

"That's exactly how it works."

Ron crossed his arms. "That sounds like a door that can be opened both ways, Miss Granger."

"Fine by me!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

"Great!"

"Brilliant!"

The pair stared crossly at each other before resuming eating. They both looked down at the grey splats of batter on their plates. They'd seen more appetising clay.

They looked up at each other and burst out laughing.

Hermione tossed a few coins into the tip dish while Ron stood up. He held out his hand. "Madam, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the dentist, this fine morning?"

Hermione giggled at his adopted upper-class accent. "I'd be delighted, kind Sir!" she took his hand, eliciting a welcomed fluttery feeling in their stomachs, which let them know that after all the fighting and death, they were still love-struck teenagers, eagerly exploring the magical land of sexual discovery.

Out on the pavement, they walked up the hill hand in hand. Neither of them mentioned it, but they were both aware that they hadn't come up with any sort of plan for when they arrived at the dentists'. They didn't even have an appointment.

"By the way..." Hermione added slyly, as they paused to cross the road. "You don't owe me anything. We're even."

"Don't be silly," said Ron. He waited until they'd crossed the road into the quiet lane before continuing. "You gave me a hand job at my house and a blow job this morning..."

Hermione grinned sheepishly.

"And I went down on you this morning. That means that I've had two and you've had one. I owe you one. Unless..."

"Women can have multiple orgasms, Ron."

"I know, but..."

"So think about it."

Ron stopped. "Oh."

She kept on walking. "And the penny drops..." she glanced back at him. Anyone would've thought he was in shock, but Hermione wasn't just anybody. He had the same look on his face as soon as it was announced that Gryffindor had won the match, thanks to Ron. Or when Voldemort died. Or when Hermione first kissed him. Smug bloody pride.

"Did you really think I was going to fend off your sexual advances, Ron? I might have more manners than you, but I'm not _that _much of a prude."

"Evidently..." he said shakily, walking forward to take her hand in his again. They continued walking.

"I wasn't going to say anything, because that would've been deceitful," she said.

"Rubbish!" he exclaimed. "You just wanted another romp!"

Hermione blushed, but she shrugged none the less. "You'd have done the same."

The dentist's small bungalow came into sight. There were very few cars parked outside it and the whole hot lane was silent. Crickets, shimmering horizon, dentists' drill, baking gravel, melting skin. Frizzy hair.

Ron stroked the back of Hermione's head when they reached the surgery. "I hate to sound like a prick, but what the fuck is our plan?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "The invisibility cloak's in my bag. I go in and decide whether I'm selfish enough to restore my parents' memories."

Ron sighed. "It wouldn't be selfish, Hermione. You're their daughter. They'd want you back."

"But they have a son, Ron! A ten-year old! What are they going to do if I bring them back? They'd _never _ have gone through with it before!"

"Then..." Ron didn't want to be blunt, but he had to. "Erase their memories again."

Hermione gulped, but nodded. She understood. "This trip would've been for nothing, then."

"Oh, I dunno about _that_..." Ron shrugged with a grin. She slapped him slightly on the arm.

He watched her look over the deserted road at the surgery. Her parents were in there. _Right there_. Their son was at school.

As soon as he heard her shakily inhale, he stepped forward and pulled her into an embrace. Her arms went around his waist immediately. She nuzzled his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

"You'll be okay," he promised her, hugging her tighter. "Whatever happens, you'll be happy again eventually. I'll make sure you're happy again."

"I know you will," came her muffled voice. She leant back and looked up at him with watery eyes. "You make me happy, Ron. Being with you..." she trailed off, unable to finish. It wasn't that she was overwhelmed: it was that she couldn't describe it. She was happy because he was with her. After _knowing_, for years, that he would never be with her...

He kissed her, still cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him.

"See you later, then," he said eventually, glumly, as she pulled away.

She smiled sadly. "I hope this works..."

"It will. Like you'd ever fuck up a spell, Hermione..."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Ronald. That's sweet of you."

"Go on. I'll be out here."

"Ok..."

She reluctantly walked away from him, towards the dental surgery. He watched her disappear inside, internally grimacing at the ache in his stomach now that her arms weren't around him. It was embarrassing. Then again, did he really care? His brothers weren't around. Neither was anyone else. Just him and her, and her parents.

A smile started to grow on his face. It was short-lived.

It seemed that fate was on her side. The receptionist's back was turned as she lazily flicked through a folder of dental records from a cabinet behind the desk. The radio was turned up loud. Hermione's tip-toeing went unnoticed. Her hand rested on her jeans pocket anyway. She didn't want to Confund anyone, but needs must if she wanted her family back.

The waiting room was empty. The first dentists' room was empty. On the wide-open door was a plaque that read "Dr. M. Wilkins". Where was she?

Probably helping her son settle in at home. _Figures..._

Hermione sucked in a breath as she came to the third room on the corridor. White, clean, soft French music playing...

"Oh!" gasped Wendell Wilkins in surprise. He set down a pile of medical notes and beamed at her. "Are you Felicia Tilney?" he asked her. "You're a bit early. Your appointment wasn't until eleven, but... I suppose I have nothing better to do!" he grinned again. Each oblivious smile pierced her.

"Um, yes, I... something came up and... I need..." she stuttered, the wand in her jeans starting to feel heavy.

"Ah, don't worry, Miss Tilney! We all have those days !" he laughed to himself. Hermione shamelessly stared at him.

"Robert Granger..." she heard herself say.

Dr Wilkins began to snap plastic gloves onto his hands. "Sorry?"

"Do you know who he is?"

He sniffed. "The name rings a bell. Why... should I?" he looked at her. Hermione waited with baited breath as he searched her face for something, almost as though trying to remember something. It was painful. She wanted Ron to come in.

"I remember you..." he said next. "You came into my surgery yesterday! Crikey, I am so sorry! Big day yesterday, remember? My son came home with us for the first time," he beamed with pride.

Hermione wanted to sink to the floor. She wanted Ron to do the spell.

"That's right, I did..." she said numbly.

He started to look uncomfortable. "You left in a bit of a hurry yesterday, I recall! Are you back for your check-up? I'm surprised Rachel fitted you in at such short notice..."

"No, no, erm... It's fine, I just... I think I left my handbag in here yesterday."

Dr Wilkins shrugged. "Nope! No handba-" his jolly expression vanished. "You booked an appointment though..."

Hermione gulped. "Yes, I did."

Her hand slowly rapped around the handle of her wand.

"Your name was Granger yesterday. Are you Granger or Brooks?"

"Granger... and so is yours."

"Excuse me?"

"_Dad,"_ he voice broke as she slid the wand out of her pocket. She aimed it at him with a trembling hand.

His eyes widened. "What are you doing?" he took a step backwards. "What is that?"

She took a deep breath. "_Salvio Hexia..."_

Ron was not standing outside any more.

He'd been leaning against the fence post, trying to ignore the rising temperature, contemplating whether or not to check up on Hermione when he saw it...

The biggest fucking spider he had ever seen. Not an acromantula, oh no. This was what he could only assume to be the Huntsman spider that Hermione had spoken of.

Brown, beady-eyed and fucking huge... audibly scuttling towards him across the dusty road.

Ron had launched himself up the driveway of the surgery.

"Hey! Do you have an app-" the receptionist began to say.

"No, er, my, er, girlfriend's in there with, er... her dentist."

"But there hasn't been any-"

"Gotta go, BYE!" he whimpered as he sprinted across reception to the corridor.

He went straight past the waiting room. He barely glanced in the empty dental surgery. He found her soon enough. He'd arrived just in time, it seemed. She was stood by the door, pointing her wand at a fair-haired man, whose eyes were wide, watery and horror-stricken.

"What's happened?" asked Ron breathlessly. Nobody turned to face him.

"I just cast the spell..." her voice shook.

Then, Robert Granger sunk to his knees in front of them, his eyes still fixed on hers.

"...Dad?"

"Wendell?"

Ron and Hermione spun round. In the doorway stood a pretty woman of no more than fifty, with thick dark hair, staring at the scene in confusion.

"What's going on?" she asked. She stared hard at Hermione. "Do I know you?"

"Monica..." they heard her husband whimper. "_Jean_?"

Monica Wilkins' eyes widened. "What on Earth... Wendell, are you alright?!" she rushed into the room, straight past Hermione and Ron. Ron glanced towards his girlfriend, who looked ill. She was shaking violently. He rushed over and put an arm round her shoulders.

"Hermione?" he whispered. "I think it's worked."

"What have I done?" she cried quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Wendell, do you need an ambulance? _Can you hear me_?" she bent down and held his shoulders. The wreck of a man grabbed her arms.

"Jean..." he sobbed. "Hermione's back..."

_A/N: And that's the end of the story! LOLjk there's about 10 chapters left. Or 20. Or somewhere in between. _

_Anyway, thanks for all the reviews. Do keep them coming. _


	18. Everything's Just Wonderful

It took two attempts at the spell-lifting charm to bring Jean Granger back into existence. She kept flapping around like a wet hen when two psychologically unstable British youths seemed to have reduced her husband to a gibbering wreck with a wooden stick. Needless to say, she joined him in the emotional outpour three minutes later, when Robert Granger was right as rain.

At least, he was no longer shaking.

The receptionist came in twenty minutes of sobbing and unintelligible slurry mid-wail utterances with a tray of mugs of coffee and a deeply concerned look on her face, as though she'd found a Rocky Horror drag parade in the surgery. She cautiously balanced the coffees on the instrument tray and left, nodding nervously to Ron, who was the only person in the room who was not on the floor in a blubbering heap.

Twenty minutes was how long it took for Hermione's parents to snap into entirely different mental states.

Jean Granger stood up and, out of nowhere, commanded "sit."

Hermione, whose eyes were pink and whose face was wet, looked puzzled. "Mum?"

"I said sit."

Hermione gulped and hauled herself off the floor. She slid into the dentists' chair, her eyes locked on her mother. She did not lean back.

Mrs Granger took a deep breath. "I want to know what you did to me and your father."

Hermione grimaced. "Mum, look, it's..."

"No, _you_ look," she said firmly. "I want to know what you did to me and your father. Whatever it was, I know it was you. I want to know what it was and why you did it. Please don't sugar-coat the details. I have a right to know why my husband and I forgot we had a daughter."

Her voice didn't break, but wateriness returned to her eyes. Hermione looked shocked.

"We..." she croaked. "We... I... I did it to keep you safe."

"Did what?"

Hermione gulped. "Erased me from your memories."

Mrs Granger flinched, as though her stomach had churned. She didn't say anything for a long few seconds. She merely breathed deeply.

"Why... did you to that, Hermione?"

"To protect you," she said firmly.

Mrs Granger was visibly shaking now. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Another tear slid down Hermione's cheek.

Mrs Granger's hand twitched. Ron's did too, instinctively. Man or woman, if anybody hurt Hermione, he wasn't going to stand by and let it happen. Not anymore.

"And... you sent us to Australia... why?"

Hermione was shrinking away from her. "They were going to torture you."

The coffee and dental instruments went flying across the room in an instant, with a loud crash, as Mrs Granger's fist smashed against the tray.

"THIS IS THE PROBLEM I HAVE, HERMIONE!" she shrieked at her cowering daughter. "I DON'T KNOW WHO "THEY" ARE, BECAUSE YOU NEVER TELL ME! _WHY _DOES A BUNCH OF PEOPLE WANT TO TORTURE ME, WHEN I HAVE NEVER DONE _ANYTHING_?! WHAT DID _YOU _DO TO GET _US _INTO THIS MESS?!"

"HEY!" barked Ron, coming to stand in between Mrs Granger and his daughter. "That's not fair. You can't expect Hermione to explain seven years worth of struggle in a few sentences. Calm down."

Mrs Granger stared at him, bewildered. Then she looked to Hermione. "Who the hell is this?!"

"Ron," she said weakly. Ron feared for her. She didn't sound right, but he daren't spare a glance towards her. Her mother was sizing him up.

"You've got a nerve intervening in my family affairs, boy," she said in a low voice.

"Just looking after Hermione," said Ron quickly. "I didn't want her to come to Australia alone... never wanted to intervene."

Mrs Granger was standing tall now. Not quite as tall as Ron but still, Ron got the impression that she'd taken this stance before.

Light danced in her welling tears as she trembled. "You're with her."

It meant more than it sounded. Ron nodded, making a conscious effort to keep eye contact.

Tears fell from Mrs Granger's eyes. "Did they hurt her?"

Ron said nothing. He couldn't lie. Not after all of this.

His silence answered her question. A sob escaped her. "What did they do?"

"Mum, please-" began Hermione, standing up.

"No..." Mrs Granger whimpered, taking a step back from both of them. As she did so, she seemed to shrink into the meek woman she used to be. Small and despairing.

"Mum, please let me explain..." Hermione's voice was on the verge of breaking too. "You don't understand how hard it was for me to-"

"You wait 'til you're a mother, Hermione!" Mrs Granger squeaked. "You never forget the day you meet your baby! It was the best day of my life, you know! And do you know what I remember? I remember looking into your eyes and promising that I'd never stop loving you and now I've spent a whole year not knowing or caring if you were safe or happy..."

Mrs Granger, tears pouring down her face, sobs wracking her body, stumbled out of the room and down the corridor. Hermione stared after her, stunned at the catastrophe of this reunion.

Ron remembered the fourth member of the party and whirled round, only to find Robert Granger sitting on the floor still, his face a sickly shade of grey.

"You OK, Mr Granger?" he asked dumbly.

Ron saw Hermione spin back round to watch her father's reaction eagerly. This day _could _get worse, and it all depended on Mr Granger.

Mr Granger blinked slowly, like a drowning man sinking into his final sleep. "We have another child. He was our world this morning," he said numbly.

"He still can be, Dad..." Hermione whimpered, her face contorting as she fought back more tears. "and..." she trailed off.

"Our lives will never be the same again," mused Mr Granger.

Ron didn't wait to gauge Hermione's reaction. He just shuffled across the floor over to her and threw an arm around her waist. She kept crying, but gripped Ron's arm tightly, like the harness on a roller coaster.

Her knees buckled and Ron sank to the floor with her in front of Mr Granger, but then Mr Granger sniffed and shrugged. "Oh well. Lots to be done."

Hermione fell silent.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Where are you staying, you two?"

"Er..."

"In a... tent."

He glanced between them. "Ah."

He wasn't delirious. He seemed to be weighing things up in his mind. Then, he nodded to himself and used the dentists' chair to pull himself up to standing. Hermione and Ron followed, amazed but cautious.

Mr Granger looked straight at his daughter. "This young man's right, Hermione," he said calmly, re-adopting his British accent. His memories of fatherhood in England must've flooded back by now. "It'll take more than a discussion over coffee to explain what's been going on. I just... I'm... sorry."

Hermione blinked rapidly. "You're _sorry_?!"

Mr Granger nodded.

"_What for_?!"

Mr Granger waved her off. "Go and find your mother. She'll be round the back. This young man is staying with me."

"Daddy-"

"I'm fine, darling. Talk to your mother. She's a tricky one."

Ron tried desperately not to whine like a lost puppy as Hermione charged from the room.

oOo

The room was silent for a horribly long time. Mr Granger sat in the chair with his face in his hands. Ron didn't dare disturb him. If it had been him, he'd have fainted or screamed or done something equally embarrassing. That's why he was waiting for Hermione' dad to crack like his wife had.

"Sorry, lad," mumbled Mr Granger. He rubbed his face and sat up. "Rough day at the office."

Ron laughed unnecessarily loudly: compensating for Mr Granger's missing hysteria.

"I... feel like I should be waiting until... I don't know, until this madness starts to make a bit more sense before doing the embarrassing Dad speech. Maybe I'll wait. Oh, I don't know..." Mr Granger sighed.

He looked back up at Ron. "Where's the other one, then?"

"Er... other what, Sir?"

Mr Granger chuckled. "There's no need for "Sir", Ron, it's just 'Robert'. The other boy. There were always two of you as I recall. Then again, my memory isn't what it once was..." he chuckled again.

Ron smiled.

"Harry, wasn't it? The important one... is he alright?"

Ron swallowed, trying hard to ignore the painful stab in his gut at Mr Granger's choice of words.

Mr Granger smiled. "You know what I mean. The Special One. The Godly One. Whatever your lot used to call him..."

Ron smirked amusedly. "The Chosen One."

"Ah yes. What a load of toss."

Ron laughed.

Mr Granger sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't comment. I haven't a clue about how things in your world work. Maybe _The Chosen One _means something significant over there..."

Ron swallowed. "It's the same world, Mr Granger. We all... we all live in the same world. We're not as separate as you might think."

Mr Granger gave him a funny look. "You've got it bad for her, boy."

Ron blushed, to his mortification, and shrugged. "Yeah I do. But they're my beliefs anyway. It's how I was raised, you know."

Mr Granger smiled. "Believe it or not, I remember your parents."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Yup. Excellent people. All of you. You, your sister, those rowdy twins..." Mr Granger chuckled. "They were arguing over whether those magic jelly beans were poisonous to muggles or not."

Ron's smile remained, to his surprise. He ached all over, of course, but it was nice to learn things about the twins. It made it feel like Fred wasn't lost forever.

"Before... before any of this happened..." began Mr Granger cautiously. "Hermione was scared. Something big was happening."

Ron said nothing.

"I know that there's plenty of time for her to tell us what was going on and... and..." Mr Granger took a deep breath. "I know there's going to be things that she doesn't want to tell us. I... I need you to be honest with me here, Ron. Do I... do I really want to know _everything _that happened?"

Ron looked up at him. He looked to be bracing himself. That, and almost pleading.

"Hermione's not in any danger anymore. She's safe and... fine."

Horrid images of Hermione's incessant weeping, screaming and days of numb silence assaulted his mind and he struggled to remain composed. Raw emotion leaked through the cracks and was visible to Mr Granger, who swallowed and nodded.

"I see."

"But as I said, she's fine. We all are. There's no threat any more. We... we made sure of it."

Mr Granger took a deep breath. "Sounds exciting!" he grinned, injecting a bit of humour into the conversation through irony. "I sense it'll have to wait. Speaking of which..." Mr Granger stood up and walked round to the counter at the back. Out of a drawer, he pulled out a pen and notepad. He quickly. scribbled on it.

"This is our address... bloody hell, what happened to our house in England?!"

"Er..."

"No, no, never mind," Mr Granger said quickly. "It can wait until this evening. Six o'clock. I'll cook something. Then we can ask some questions and Hermione can... she can meet our son."

Ron nodded, taking the paper from him. They both turned to go and find the women, but Hermione was already standing in the doorway.

"She doesn't want to talk to me," she said coolly. "We should leave."

oOo

_A/N: Oops that was short please don't hate me._

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	19. Hallelujah

Hermione cried quietly all the way through town, back to the beach. Ron kept his arm around her shoulders at all times, subtly glowering at all the staring or smirking passers-by. It frustrated him that people were giving them looks as if to say "lover's tiff?" when in actual fact, they'd both faced more in one year that anyone else would endure in their entire life. They'd been braver and stronger than any of these people, but now they'd always wear their battle scars.

Particularly Hermione.

One arm around his waist, her free hand at her mouth as she bit into her thumb to stop herself from sobbing aloud. It was no way for a girl to leave a reunion with her parents. He watched her carefully, keeping his arm a safe distance away from the waistband of her jeans. He loved her unconditionally, but he and Harry both knew that an emotional Hermione was a dangerous one.

By the time they reached the tent, her tears were dry and shiny on her face. Ron's arm and side went cold as she left him in search of tissues. He sat down on the bed, forcing back a smile at their fucking fantastic morning. Why had everything turned to shit so easily?

"Hermione?" he called, when she didn't reappear from the bathroom. "Everything alright?"

"Mmm..." she mumbled, sounding tearful again. He bounded off the bed towards the bathroom curtain and wrenched it open.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, scrunching a tissue up in her hand as she stared at him wide-eyed. "I could've been going for a shower!"

"But you weren't."

"I _could've _been!"

"You weren't, you were crying."

"I could've been peeing!"

"You'd have warned me."

"I could've been indecent!" she blushed as she said the word.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before..." he couldn't resist waggling his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes and barged past him into the main space. She quickly tugged the zip of the entrance, darkening the tent to a dull yellow hue. She wore a haughty pout, but when she sat on the bed, Ron saw her shoulders sag in a way that made her look utterly helpless.

He wondered over, slowly this time, wary that the Hermione's fury furnace was rarely cold.

"Hermione?" he asked cautiously.

He heard her sigh. "Yes?"

There was no point to asking whether she was okay. "Can I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the spot on the bed beside her.

She smiled weakly. "No, you have to sit on the floor until I'm emotionally stable."

Ron smiled, but did not sit down. "What was that? Hermione Granger making a joke about _herself_?"

"Don't get used to it. I might snap and lunge for your throat."

Ron laughed nervously. That's exactly what he was afraid of. But had he really been that transparent over the years? Had his jokes about her stormy hormones taken their toll on her?

"You're acting as though I'm a sleeping lion, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "You're upset." It didn't sound like the right thing to say...

She frowned. "I'm not going to attack you."

"I know!" he said quickly. "I just... don't want to do anything to upset you further."

She clearly did not believe him. Another tear escaped. Her head twitched away from him, before she gave up and slumped backwards with a defeatist sob. She lay on the bed, damp eyes closed, making a conscious effort to breathe slowly.

It was then that Ron sat on the bed. She didn't react to the bed's creaking as he lowered himself down, but her controlled breathing stopped when he put a warm hand on her knee.

She looked up at him without any signs of warning or accusation.

"Please don't cry," he said.

Her face contorted, as she fought back more tears.

Despite the pain her heart-ache was causing him, he chuckled. "Must you always be so contrary?" he asked with a grin. She managed a small laugh, causing him to smile even wider.

Not even attempting to restrain himself, he slid forward and joined her in lying down. To his delight, she instinctively curled over to face him.

Her face was inches away from his, and he could see each tear streak on her face and each dark damp eyelash. He observed these tiny details not realising she was gazing right at him.

"Ah! Er, hello!" he spluttered stupidly, causing her to laugh.

"Hello there," she replied, smiling properly.

"I was so engaged in watching you that I wasn't actually watching you."

She shrugged. "I understand."

"That's good then."

"It is."

They both filled the silence with contented sighs before the topic in hand came up again. Hermione's smile disappeared as she draped an arm over his waist. "What did you think of my parents, Ron?" she asked. It didn't sound like small talk.

"Your Dad's nice," he said honestly. "He's funny. He seems like a good Dad."

"And Mum?" she asked, as though she hadn't cared about his thoughts on her father.

Ron swallowed nervously. "I didn't really get to know her. She..."

"stormed off, yes..." Hermione finished for him. When she said nothing more, he craned his neck forward to kiss her forehead. When he pulled back, she looked to be calculating something difficult.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Didn't you think... didn't you think she was... a bit like me?"

Confused, Ron pulled himself up to rest on one elbow, wrapping another arm around her waist. "Like I said, I didn't really get to meet her properly..."

Hermione swallowed. "She's got a nasty temper."

Ron shrugged. "What are you getting at, Hermione?"

Hermione looked embarrassed. "You're nothing like your parents."

"... that doesn't help either."

Hermione huffed and sat up, her hair bunching at her shoulders and framing her face. Ron didn't dare to say it aloud, but she looked sexy...

"I don't want you to think that I'm like my mother, because I'm not. I'd hate it if you made assumptions about me based on her."

"Whoa, whoa..." interjected Ron, sitting bolt upright now. "Who said anything about making assumptions? I already know you Hermione, I don't need to figure stuff out about you based on your parents!"

She still looked uncertain. "Okay..."

"_Hermione_..."

She looked straight at him.

"...what is this all about?"

He almost regretted asking, but it was important. She looked down, looking almost as upset as she'd done when she'd first wiped her parents' memories.

"It's pathetic and... and I already know what you're going to say..." she began quietly. "... and please don't think that I'm needy and desperate..."

"Hermione, just say it!"

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly awash with fear, as though a Death Eater stood behind him. "My Dad could have left Mum years ago. He wanted to. They weren't good together... but she scared him into staying, and until I restored their memories, he was the most miserable man alive..."

Ron listened attentively, not quite believing what he thought he was hearing...

She put her hands on his shoulders. "I love my Mum and she loves me back. I have some really happy memories of growing up but there were times when... when she just... snapped."

He _was_ hearing it. She _was _saying this.

"I know I'm barmy and flappable and sometimes I can be a bit of a dragon but please believe me... I'm not like her. She has _problems._ Sometimes she's cruel..." her eyes brimmed with tears again. "I won't make you miserable, Ron."

Stunned, he pulled her into a hug. She squeezed tightly, as though he were dangling her off a cliff.

"You are completely mental if you think I'd be sitting here with you if you _scared_ me."

"You and Harry have always thought I'm scary," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I _do _keep snapping at you."

"You've spent too much time around boys, I reckon," he chuckled. "And there's a difference between snapping and erupting into a storm of fiery rage, Hermione," he said, recalling Mrs Granger's outburst. He shuddered. "Sorry..." he muttered guiltily.

"Don't apologize," said Hermione earnestly, still nuzzling his neck and shoulder. "I imagine she's quite alarming for a first-time witness."

Ron laughed. "Seriously though, Hermione," he began again, soothingly rubbing her back. "You know me. Am I really the sort of person who would stay in a relationship even if I hated it?"

Hermione pulled back and gave him a pointed look. "_Lavender..?_"

"That was different," he said quickly. "I was horny, jealous and desperate. I'm a grown man now, and only one of those things still applies to me."

She laughed.

but then he took her face in his hands without any warning. Gently. He looked her straight in the eye and communicated every affectionate feeling he'd ever had for her into his gaze. "I can't fall out of love with you, Hermione. I've already tried ignoring it, back when I was with Lavender, but I can't do it... and now that you love me back, it doesn't hurt anymore. It feels quite nice, actually, being in love with someone who loves you..." he expected her to laugh, but she watched him, silently pleading with him to finish. "... and when we're your parents' age, I'll _still _be in love with you and our marriage will be happier than your parents'"

When he saw her eyes widen, he was sure he'd put his foot in it, but as a look of utter adoration spread across her face, his confidence grew. This was Hermione, his girlfriend, soul mate, one true love and every other gushy synonym on the planet.

"Marriage?" she asked quietly, with a sniff.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on..."

It wasn't a proposal. Bloody hell, that was _not _a proposal. Nothing was that easy. But as much as she deserved romance and planning and an eye-wateringly expensive ring, she also deserved a promise; a reassurance that they were now a done deal, and that he'd fight acromantulas and dementors and evil wizards for the rest of his life if it meant he'd get to come home to her at the end of every day.

oOo

_A/N: Yes, I know. But I felt like some fluff and the next chapter will be up VERY shortly. _

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	20. Summertime Sadness

Ron put his best efforts into making the rest of the day as light-hearted as possible, and knew Hermione was doing her best to keep smiling along with him. They spent hours on the beach, writing and doodling in the sand which prompted Ron to turn the exercise into rather crude game, spelling out rude words and drawing things which Hermione had to quickly stamp all over before anyone else saw them.

They pushed each other into the sea. They splashed each other. Ron made fun of Hermione's frizzy salt-water hair. Hermione made fun of Ron's instant sun burn and continued to giggle as she dragged him inside to heal his sore skin with dittany.

They fawned over a little black puppy, which galloped towards them and danced around their legs for a long time. Hermione struggled to argue her case when Ron was adamant that they adopt the puppy if the owner did not show up in two hours (which, thankfully, she did).

Just as Hermione retreated back inside the tent to get ready for dinner, Ron couldn't help but thing that he had almost forgotten what it was like to have fun with Hermione. Their time being a couple had been fraught with tears and insecurities and awkward sexual experiments that they had rarely managed an hour of having the fun that they used to have. Back before any of the horcrux mess, Hermione and Ron had spent hours teasing each other, laughing at Ron's corny jokes, exploring Hogsmeade together... Ron's favourite memories were the ones where Hermione came to his house in the holidays, just before Harry did. They had a laugh, talking about Hogwarts nonsense while they did their chores. Sometimes, they'd get close to becoming what they were now. Ron remembered the moments before Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place for the first time, and Ron had _almost_ surrendered to his urge to kiss her, up where they were quietly whispering on the landing, and he could've sworn Hermione would have let him, but Harry's arrival only but a stop to that moment.

"Ron?" Hermione called from the tiny bathroom, distracting him from his thoughts.

"Er, yeah?"

"Are you getting changed?" she asked warningly.

"Of course!" lied Ron, leaping off the bed and staring at the small beaded bag on the floor. "Um, I'm just not sure that I have anything formal..."

"You don't have to wear anything _formal_, Ron, just not beach shorts..."

Ron peered down at his hairy legs that were bare, thankfully, because Hermione had insisted on buying him some lightweight shorts. He had underestimated the Australian heat when packing.

"So... I have to wear jeans?"

"Yes, something like that."

What the hell did _something like that _mean?

"But it's _boiling_, Hermione!" he whined, snatching the bag up from the floor and delving inside.

"It'll be cooler later! Besides, Dad gave you his address. We can apparate there."

Ron sighed, grateful that Hermione had saved them a long walk through the sweltering town. He whipped his shorts and t-shirt off before delving into the bag in search of jeans and a passably clean shirt. He pulled his least-worn pair of jeans out and threw them down on the bed.

As he stood there scrambling to reach a decent shirt in nothing but his boxers, he became aware that he had taken his clothes off without a second thought. It didn't matter if Hermione walked in on him anymore, because she'd seen everything and vice versa. It got him wondering why Hermione was getting dressed in the bathroom like she had when they were on the run. It must be a girl thing. Or a Hermione thing.

He pulled on his jeans and grimaced. They were his tight ones, and he was already feeling too hot.

He took his time finding a shirt. It wasn't that he didn't care if Hermione walked in, it was that he wanted her to.

He heard the bathroom curtain being drawn back. "Ron, could you pass me the..."

He spun round. He didn't notice that Hermione was staring at his bare torso. She was a vision. She'd put on a blue summer dress, a cardigan and a small amount of make up on her eyes, nothing else. Her hair was clipped up. Sexy. Pretty. His.

"Could you, um... pass me the, um, bag, please?" she stuttered, looking down at the floor and smoothing her hair down with her hand. It took a while for Ron to notice she'd spoken. He surged forward and thrust the bag out towards her, startling her a little. She smiled in amusement. "Thank you..."

She started rummaging around in the bag. Ron felt stupid, standing there and staring at her when he knew he ought to say something. It seemed weird to just come out with it...

She pulled out a small green and purple tub.

"You look lovely," he blurted out at last.

It was definitely weird to just come out with it...

She blushed immediately, glancing at him momentarily before grinning at the floor. "My hair's a bit chaotic."

"I like it."

She raised an eyebrow at him doubtfully. "Really?"

Ron shrugged, unwilling to reveal his fondness for Hermione's bushy hair. "Yeah."

Hermione still looked doubtful. So, he took a step towards her and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. He loved being able to do that. He loved running his hands through her hair when they kissed.

He placed a soft kiss on top of her head. He loved the smell of her shampoo.

"So that's a no for the Sleakeazy then?" she chuckled when he didn't stop nuzzling her hair. Ron grinned and pulled back.

"I like your hair as it is," he commented, admiring the way the fly-away tendrils of hair framed her face. Noticing his train of thought, he internally cursed himself. _It's just hair. _

"It's six o'clock," she said abruptly. "We said we'd be there at six."

Ron was suddenly nervous. "Right."

"We should go."

Ron sighed. "We should."

Hermione gulped. "It'll be fine."

Ron smiled at her. "Yeah, it will."

She smiled at him. She reached up and put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. She kissed him softly and almost shyly, but when she pulled away she looked decidedly determined.

Ron gulped, suddenly nervous as to what this encounter with Hermione's parents would bring. She laced her hands with his before apparating them to the address that she'd memorised.

oOoOo

Neither Ron nor Hermione were surprised by the Grangers' choice of home. It was large and Victorian, just like Hermione's childhood home. It was white, with a perfectly manicured front lawn and a shiny black car in the driveway. Ron knew little about cars, but could recognize an expensive one. It was impressive...

"Evening!" called Mr Granger, who they found to be waiting in the frame of the open front door even before they arrived. Hermione had squeezed Ron's hand when she spotted him.

"Dad, this house is incredible!" exclaimed Hermione as they walked past the car, up the driveway.

Mr Granger shrugged. "Just a shack in the woods, really..."

Ron looked around. There were no woods nearby. He hated muggle sayings.

"Come in. I'm cooking a roast dinner, proper English grub."

"Sounds nice," commented Hermione politely as they stepped into the entrance hall. Ron noticed Hermione glancing around anxiously, probably in search of her mother.

"She's in the garden..." said Mr Granger knowingly. "...getting some air."

Hermione frowned. Ron delicately placed his hand on the small of her back and kept it there as they followed Mr Granger in to the kitchen. The smell of roast dinner permeated the air and made Ron's mouth water. It had been days since he'd eaten a proper home-cooked meal...

"It's really nice of you to cook for us, Mr Granger," said Ron earnestly. "We appreciate it,"

Hermione smiled proudly, causing Ron to do the same.

Mr Granger blushed. "Well, now, that's alright. It takes a cold-hearted man to refuse to cook for his only daughter and her..." he waved in the direction of Ron, stumbling over the word.

"Boyfriend?" said Hermione.

"Yes, that. Have a seat."

Hermione and Ron sat beside each other at the large dining table, where plates and cutlery were already laid out, along with two bottles of wine. Ron noticed Hermione swallow when she saw them.

"You look very nice this evening, Hermione!" said Mr Granger happily as he brought a dish of carrots over to the table.

"Thanks," said Hermione casually, with a smile.

Ron smiled too. Her bashful reaction to his compliments in the tent were an indication to him that he was the reason she'd gotten dressed in the bathroom. She'd wanted to gage his reaction.

"I hope this is alright," said Mr Granger. "I haven't cooked a roast in... well, since England. I don't know how well this is going to turn out."

Ron saw Hermione frown. He looked at her curiously.

"Mum always does the cooking," she explained in a low voice. Ron nodded in understanding. He guessed that Mrs Granger's refusal to cook for Hermione was little to do with her feeling emotionally overwhelmed. He was rather starting to dislike Hermione's Mum...

"Right..." Mr Granger said to himself, staring at the oven door with a determined look. "Now, for the _piéce de resistánce..._" he bent down and yanked the oven door open. Ron watched in amazement. There was no fire in the oven, only a loud noise. A mechanical machine was cooking the food without fire. The cloud of heat hit his legs.

"How does an oven get hot?" Ron asked Hermione and her father.

Mr Granger turned to him and grinned. "Go on..."

"...what?" Ron asked in confusion.

"Oh. Oh, nothing, it just sounded like you were going to tell a joke. Um... well, it's electrical, um... I don't suppose you do have ovens at home..."

Ron shook his head.

Mr Granger sighed. "I've no idea. You'd have to ask an electrician. For all I know, it just gets hot when it's turned on."

Ron smirked and glanced at Hermione, who saw him and rolled her eyes.

"...hmm. Intersting."

"What is?" asked Hermione, distracting herself from Ron's crude humour.

"Magic. It's absolutely fascinating how wizards survive without electricity and things. It makes you think, doesn't it? It puts things into perspective..."

"You should meet my Dad," said Ron.

Before Mr Granger could reply, the back door swung open. In walked Mrs Granger with a face like thunder. As soon as she saw Ron and Hermione at the table, she looked almost embarrassed.

"Is it ready yet, Robert?"

"Yes, dear. Have a seat."

Mrs Granger gulped and walked over to the table. She sat down opposite Ron and grabbed the bottle of wine.

"Wine, Ron?" she said, twisting the cap off.

"Er, sure, thanks."

"Hermione?" she poured white wine into Ron's glass. It made a funny glugging sound.

"No thank you," Hermione mumbled quietly.

"Suit yourself..."

"Right!" exclaimed Mr Granger from the oven. He'd removed the dish. "It might be a _tiny _bit over-done but it's completely edible!"

He proudly made his way over and plonked the dish into the centre of the table. The three sitting down stared at the blackened meat join doubtfully.

"You've killed it," said Mrs Granger.

"I should hope so!" jokes Mr Granger. "Wouldn't want it alive, now, would we?"

Ron did his best to smile gratefully. He couldn't even tell what type of meat it was meant to be.

Mr Granger served the food in silence, taking each person's plate and piling it with green beans, carrots and roast potatoes. When he carved the meat, it became clear that it was beef. Hermione stared at it as though it were Crabbe and Goyle's polyjuice potion.

As soon as Mr Granger sat down, the atmosphere tensed. Nobody wanted to be the first to speak...

"Where's, um..." Hermione began, looking around. "Where's your son?"

"Oliver is upstairs, in his room," said Mrs Granger. "He's already eaten. He'll be down shortly."

Hermione nodded, passively prodding a carrot on her plate. The atmosphere tensed again. Ron grabbed his glass of wine and took a big gulp. The taste was disgusting and he fought the urge to grimace as he swallowed it. Mrs Granger was watching him with an amused expression.

"How are your parents, Ron?" she asked.

"Fine, thank you," he said in a raspy voice. "They send their best wishes,"

"We must see them again, Jean!" beamed Mr Granger. "I'd love to show Mr Weasley the cars..."

Ron's eyes widened. People had two cars?!

"Nobody wants to hear about your cars, Robert," said Mrs Granger with a cold smirk. "That's not why we invited Ron and Hermione here today, is it?"

Mr Granger frowned. "I suppose not..."

Ron recognised this moment as the sort that Hermione grew up to despise. He grabbed her hand under the table. She squeezed it and did not let go, knowing the questioning was about to start.

"So," began Mrs Granger, looking directly at Hermione. "Are you going to tell us where you've been for the past twelve months or are we going to have to guess?"

Ron caught himself glaring at her. He shook off his irritation and focused on Hermione, who was already flustered.

"Well, um... you remember I told you about Voldemort..?"

"Yes," said Mrs Granger.

"And that he came back to life in fourth year..."

The sentence sounded so strange. Mrs Granger seemed to notice this, but she nodded anyway. Mr Granger looked fascinated.

"Well, Professor Dumbledore started doing this... erm... he started to, um... he had this job to do. It would stop Voldemort seizing power. It would kill him."

Ron saw Mr and Mrs Granger's understanding falter.

"and when he died, he left the job to Harry. Ron and I decided to help him."

"Sorry, I'm confused..." said Mrs Granger sharply, the 'sorry' sounding like a far cry from an actual apology. "Your headmaster had a job to do..."

"Yes."

"...which would kill Voldemort."

"Yes."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Voldemort had accumulated enough knowledge of dark magic to use horcruxes to make him immortal by which he split his soul into seven parts and manifesting them into various objects and we set out to destroy them in order to kill Voldemort."

Hermione spoke at an alarming pace, the pitch of her voice rising as she did so. From her hand which he held, he could feel her shaking.

Mr and Mrs Granger stared at each other.

"So..." began Mr Granger. Ron was relieved that he'd spoken. "Since we lived in England, you've been looking for these, er... things?"

"Yes."

"It took a whole year?" asked Mrs Granger.

"Yeah," interrupted Ron before Hermione could respond. "It isn't easy, looking for absolutely any object on the planet that might contain a part of a dark wizard's soul..."

"_Mum?_" whispered a tiny voice.

All four adults turned to face the door. A boy with brown hair as bushy as Hermione's stood in the doorway, in shorts and a t-shirt. He stared at Ron and Hermione curiously.

Mrs Granger sighed. "Yes, Oliver?"

"I just wondered if I could get some lemonade..."

"It's in the fridge, dear."

"Thanks..." he walked straight past the dinner table to the fridge and busied himself with getting a drink. Hermione stared open-mouthed at him.

"Oliver," said Mr Granger nervously. "Come over here for a minute."

Ron heard Hermione gulp. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. Oliver wandered over, smiling awkwardly at Ron and Hermione.

"Oliver, um... this is Ron and Hermione. Hermione is... um... she's our-"

"She's Robert's daughter," said Mrs Granger.

Everybody stared at her in shock.

She looked calm. She took another sip of wine. "She's managed to track Robert down. Isn't that wonderful?"

Oliver looked at Hermione. "Does that make you my sister?"

Hermione looked white as a sheet. "Yes, I suppose it does," she said weakly.

Oliver smiled at her. "Cool."

"We're having a grown-up discussion, lad," said Mr Granger. "You don't mind disappearing upstairs for a bit while we talk, do you?"

Oliver shrugged and marched out of the door without a second glance.

When Hermione turned back round, her eyes were ablaze.

"Don't have a go at me," said Mrs Granger, taking yet another sip of wine. "What else was I supposed to say? 'Hello Oliver, we have a daughter that we didn't mention throughout the entire adoption process. It wasn't that we were lying, it's just that we forgot she existed.'?"

"No," said Hermione sharply. "But you could've said that we were friends of yours, or _something._ You didn't need to be _that _obvious."

"Obvious about what?"

"How angry you are with me."

"Well, excuse me for reacting like a normal bloody person!" exclaimed Mrs Granger. "I am so sorry that I'm not all smiles and giggles after hearing that my daughter erased my memory!"

"I had no choice!" exclaimed Hermione, standing up. "They would have killed you!"

"Who's they?!" demanded Mrs Granger, standing up as well. "Those death eaters again?!"

"Yes, _those _death eaters! If it hadn't been for me, they'd have tracked you down and tortured you for information and-"

"We wouldn't have been able to protect ourselves? We may not be able to pull rabbits out of hats, Hermione, but we're not stupid!"

"Jean..." warned Mr Granger.

Mrs Granger picked up the entire wine bottle and for a moment, Ron was ready to lunge in front of Hermione, but Mrs Granger merely took a large swig from the bottle.

"I _know_ that, Mum!" cried Hermione, "But would you have let me go with Harry and Ron if I'd told you what I was going to do? No!"

"I still don't know why you were gone for a year! You were smashing up bits of Voldemort's soul, fine, but _why _did it take a year, _why _did it need three teenagers to do it when you have your own magical sodding government and _why_ were there people out there who wanted to torture me?!"

"If you just let me explain-"

"You spent sev-seven years at that school and you told us nnnnnnothing!"

"Mum, just put down the wine and-"

"I swear, since going to that school you've been behaving like witches and wizards are superior to normal people and you've been shipping me and your father half way around the world like cattle because you think we're stupid!"

Ron stood up this time. "Hey," he warned. "That's not fair."

Mrs Granger stared at him wide-eyed. "Scuse me?" she slurred.

Ron took a deep breath. "We've just spent a year trying to prove what you've just said about muggles wrong. Just let Hermione explain."

Everyone looked to Hermione. Ron was taken aback by how angry she looked. Her face was red, her eyes glistening with furious tears.

"Give me that," Hermione said at last, reaching out to the wine bottle that Mrs Granger was holding.

Ron was not the only person who saw the flash of pink on Hermione's arm.

As Hermione's hand wrapped round the neck of the wine bottle, Mrs Granger's hand wrapped round Hermione's wrist. She let go of the bottle which Hermione now held, and pushed Hermione's cardigan sleeve up.

The _MUDBLOOD _scar was as raw and red as it had ever been.

"Let go, Mum!" Hermione shouted, but it sounded more like a warning.

In Ron's peripheral, Mr Granger stood up and stared at the scar on Hermione's arm.

"_WHAT IS THAT_?!" shrieked Mrs Granger hysterically. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Hermione yanked her arm back and hastily pulled her sleeve back down. Ron immediately wrapped an arm around her waist as she cradled her wrist. Hermione's tears fell onto her cardigan sleeve.

Mr Granger moved round the table to comfort Mrs Granger, whose own tears were pouring down her face as she visibly shook. "WHO THE FUCK DID THAT TO YOU?! YOU TELL ME RIGHT NOW WHO DID THAT TO YOU!"

_What, _thought Ron bitterly, _so you can go and thank them?_

"Just one of the many people I was trying to protect you from."

Hermione sounded different. It scared him. She sounded as he imagined she would've sounded if Voldemort had won.

Mrs Granger looked physically sick. There was a long silence before she slowly turned away from them.

"I need some air," she mumbled, before disappearing through the back door.

oOo

Mr Granger disappeared to explain to Oliver what the shouting downstairs was about. Ron wasn't sure what he was telling the boy was true or not, but it hardly mattered. Ron and Hermione were in the large living room when Mr Granger and Oliver came back down. Oliver's arrival was all it took for Hermione to stop sobbing into Ron's shoulder. She'd sat up and wiped her face, smiling apologetically at the boy.

"Are you alright?" Oliver asked Hermione, standing in front of them. The boy's Australian accent was strange in his all-English company.

Hermione smiled again. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just a bit over-emotional. It's been a long day."

"Oh..." Oliver looked at Ron. "Are you her boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Ron grinned. "I'm Ron."

"Hi, Ron."

"Hi."

Oliver looked back behind him for a moment. "Do you mind if I watch TV?"

"...what?"

Mr Granger craned round Oliver to explain. "He means the television!"

"Oh. Oh! Er... sure." Ron wasn't too sure why Oliver had asked their permission.

Oliver, Ron and Hermione sat in silence while Mr Granger gave an awkwardly fumbling demonstration of how to use the television. Ron tried to ignore the baffled expression that Oliver wore as Mr Granger explained the television to Ron in the simplest of terms. He flicked through each channel, mumbling about signals and programmes. None of them discussed what had happened in the kitchen.

By the time they'd found one of Oliver's favourite shows on the television, about a man and a woman fighting strange green monsters, Ron found himself wondering what Mrs Granger was doing out in the garden on her own. Had she escaped through a back gate? Was she sitting out there crying?

"What was your name again?" asked Oliver.

Hermione pulled herself up from Ron's shoulder. "Hermione," she told him.

"Hermione," he repeated. "Cool name."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you."

Ron's mind went inexplicably to last Christmas, when he'd found Harry and Hermione again. It hadn't mattered that Hermione was furious with him, because at least he'd known she was safe. She was alive and safe. That was all it took to give him hope that she would forgive him.

"Mr Granger..."

"Mmm?" Mr Granger did not take his eyes off the television.

"Can I use your loo?"

"Be my guest,"

"Thanks,"

Ron slid his arm out from around Hermione and gently kissed the top of her head. It was less of a comforting gesture and more of a lucky mantra. Kissing the top of her head gave him a strange feeling of strength, as if being able to kiss her gave him more of a mandate to protect her. She didn't seem too suspicious.

He closed the living room door behind him and tip-toed as delicately as he could with his giant feet into the kitchen. Ignoring the logical Hermione voice in his head that this was a bad idea, he reached for the back door handle.

oOoOoO

_A/N Well that took a million years. Please review and stuff._

_Sorry it's been so long, I've had exams and I still have a few so bear with. (Bare with?)_

_And yeah sorry for the cliffy. _

_Follow me on Tumblr, links are on my profile :D_


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